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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645088">Only You, Only Yours</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relagorikt/pseuds/Relagorikt'>Relagorikt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Affection, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Claustrophobia, Conditioning, Dominance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Forced Cannibalism, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Isolation, Loss of Control, Loss of Identity, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Games, Minor Character Death, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Psychological Torture, Slow Romance, Stockholm Syndrome, Tags May Change, Tenderness, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, You and I have begun to blur, capture-bonding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:36:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relagorikt/pseuds/Relagorikt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place starting near the middle of Relevés (season 1, episode 12) Despite some inclusion of it, this is not a Will Graham torture heavy fic. Tags may be added or changed, but not too drastically. </p><p>Will stumbles on the entrance to Hannibal's basement and realizes just who it is he has been dining with. Hannibal catches him and instead of killing him outright, decides to try and keep him. Unable to resign himself to death, Will decides to allow himself to be drawn into an existence of imprisonment at Hannibal's whims, thought likely dead by everyone who has known him and looking for his chance to escape.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham &amp; Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>668</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Consigned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've had parts of this story knocking around in my head for several months now and decided to try to put it down on paper since it didn't seem to be going away. Tags may change or be added as I go along as I am still figuring some things out as I go along, though I tried to add in the ones that I thought were important. I will not be adhering to a posting schedule, but will try to get chapters up as quick as I am possibly able. This piece is self edited. I am not working with a beta so please be forgiving of imperfections. This is my first time writing a Hannibal fic, I hope you enjoy it.</p><p>If you need to get in touch with me or would like to interact you may do so over <a href="https://twitter.com/Relagorikt">  Twitter</a>, but please keep it polite.</p><div class="center">
  <p>✦══✦══✦</p>
</div>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door closed heavily behind Will with a loud bang as he left the BAU and headed toward the parking lot. He was frustrated and worse, angry. The way they looked at him as he began to connect things together said volumes. They didn’t think he was reliable, that his recent bout of fever compromised his ability to see not just what had happened in the hospital but what had been happening all along. Jack, and even Zeller and Price to a lesser extent, didn’t want to believe what happened to Georgia Madchen was anything more than suicide. The fact that he hadn’t seen it previously just fueled that opinion. They thought him mentally ill, compromised, and yet Jack still thought of him as a tool that he needed to use even in the face of that doubt. What was the point of having him there if they weren’t going to listen to him?</p><p>The world had taken on a blunt quality around him, the sounds of the nearby traffic and that of his car door closing as he got into it muffled under the rhythmic drumming of his heart. Something was wrong in all of this. New connections were forming one by one inside his head, drawing his attention to them as if to say <em>look at me-look at me-It’s here if you just look</em>, only for him to remember another fractional detail. They were interconnected, all of them. The same person. The same killer. If only he could manage to see the face of whom they all led to.</p><p>Will could almost feel him, he thought. The copycat was like a shadow alongside his own, one that trailed along behind him, something he could almost imagine in his peripheral vision. He wasn’t even sure that Beverly would believe him at this point, with how he had acted the last time he had called her.</p><p>Just look at the details, what did you miss? He jabbed the key in the ignition, slowly shifting into reverse and pulling out of the space as he tried to get his head on straight. Maybe he just needed more time for everything to come into focus. Unfortunately, it was time he was lacking if they wanted to find him before the next body dropped.</p><hr/><p>The sun had long set by the time Will found himself approaching Hannibal’s doorstep. He rapped on the door three times, feeling a bit restless as he waited. Just as he was starting to wonder if he was away, the door abruptly opened to reveal Hannibal himself, apron-clad with shirt sleeves immaculately rolled up to his elbows.</p><p>“Will. I wasn’t aware I should be expecting you tonight. Not that it isn’t a pleasant surprise, of course.” Hannibal said, his tone as always polite but with a trace of uneasy curiosity.</p><p>Will stared at him for a good two seconds before he averted his eyes and was able to respond, mildly embarrassed by the fact that he hadn’t given his arrival more thought. “Ah, yeah. Sorry, right. You’re busy. I wasn’t thinking, this is when normal people have dinner. I should have called first, I’ll come back another time.”</p><p>“Nonsense. You are always welcome in my home. Considering recent events, I feel better knowing that you are willing to come to me if need be.” Hannibal said. “Please, come in.” He flicked the crisp white prep towel he was holding so that it lay over his shoulder casually and took a step back from the door, beckoning him in with a sweep of one hand.</p><p>The smell of food became more evident as Hannibal led him to the back. The house itself was mostly still dark and quiet, though the overhead light above the island blazed brightly, illuminating the kitchen and giving it a life that he didn’t feel about the rest of the house despite the obvious careful decorating that had been done to it. No, the kitchen had the feel of a much-loved space, he thought, and while he could not exactly call it cozy in the way most people meant the word, It had always been obvious to Will that of the rooms he had seen, it felt somehow more like a real space in someone’s home rather than merely fancy set dressing.</p><p>Will ran his hands up through his hair as he began to pace around the space, trying to find a starting point to his thoughts, the earlier agitation lingering and leaving him momentarily speechless. The worst part about it was that he didn’t think he could deal with seeing the sort of looks the team leveled at him earlier on Hannibal’s face, that pitying sort of disappointment like he wasn’t truly aware of what he is saying or doing.</p><p>“I’m beginning to suspect something is wrong,” Hannibal said.</p><p>“No, somethings right for a change, it’s just nobody is listening. It’s all connected. It has been the whole time. I couldn’t see it before, but now…” he bit his bottom lip briefly and shook his head once more. “Now, I need you to get them to take me seriously.”</p><p>“Slow down. You are not completing your thoughts, Will. What is connected?” Hannibal asked.</p><p>Will turned to look at him. He was back behind the counter, attending to a variety of bowls half full with contents. A cutting board and a mortar and pestle sat on top of the prep surface, fine remnants of fresh herbs still lingering on them.</p><p>“The copycat murders, Georgia’s murder, Sutcliff’s. They’re all the same person, I’m sure of it now.”</p><p>Hannibal frowned faintly, seeming to be considering this. He busied himself with carefully peeling the skin off of a pair of tangerines with a knife. He let the quiet linger between them for a long moment before offering. “There are many differences between what happened to Cassie Boyle and Marissa Schurr, and what happened with Ms. Madchen and Dr. Sutcliffe. Is it so hard to believe that they are unrelated?”</p><p>“They’re the same,” Will said emphatically, almost barking out the frustrated response. He paused and tried to collect himself, taking in a slow deep breath and releasing it before approaching the other side of the kitchen island. He lay his hands palm down on its surface, leaning his weight into it as he looked at Hannibal. “The details of the murders themselves are all different from one another, but they are like… a mocking approximation of the originals. He took them just a step too far, made them more dramatic, more… like an artist’s caricature of the scene than the original.”</p><p>“You sound very sure.”</p><p>“I am,” Will confirmed. He was even more sure of himself as he said it, more calm and steady. “Listen, I may be unsure of a lot of the things that are going on with my head right now, but I’m sure about this. The details make it obvious. When they’re taken separately with everything that I know, they don’t stand completely on their own. There are too many inconsistencies. If it was just one thing then I might be able to excuse it, but not like this.”</p><p>“Yet you have no proof.”</p><p>“No forensic proof.” Will quietly agreed.</p><p>“Then how do you expect to be able to prove this theory to Jack? He contacted me this evening to ask my opinion about you, Will. He’s very worried about you. You are unraveling, and often unaware of it. Do you feel his concern comes unwarranted?”</p><p>Will gave a soft snort at that. He wasn’t surprised that Jack had been talking to Hannibal about him. It was all but assured considering Hannibal’s recent experience with his bout of instability. “I don’t have to prove it, it will prove itself given enough time.”</p><p>“You’re saying or perhaps hoping that he will make a mistake,” Hannibal said. It wasn’t a question in the strictest sense, though he had paused to study him with rapt interest to the answer as if it were.</p><p>“I’m saying that the details won’t lie even if he’s trying to. It’s… even with scissors, it was <em>very</em> precise, too precise for Georgia to have done it. When she killed Beth LeBeau, she was afraid and confused by the inconsistency of someone who was similar to her friend but who she couldn’t see as that person living in her home. There was no confidence behind it, no artistry or strength. She wouldn’t have been able to take Sutcliffe apart like that and she wouldn’t have had any reason to do so because they’d never met before. Plus we found what sparked the fire that killed her, and that didn’t just show up on its own.” Will said.</p><p>Hannibal pursed his lips faintly, his eyes returning to his work. “It would be an unusual occurrence. Generally speaking, a serial killer does not change the way they operate so completely unless they are made to do so. Yet, it’s not impossible.”</p><p>“You believe me, then.”</p><p>“I have always believed you, Will. Even if you are mistaken in something, I know that <em>you</em> believe what you are saying is true.”</p><p>“That isn’t exactly a rousing show of support,” Will said with a sigh.</p><p>“Forgive me, I would have called Alana had I been aware that comfort was what you were looking for. I had assumed you were after an unbiased opinion.” Hannibal said by way of challenge.</p><p>“And is it? Unbiased.”</p><p>“As much as it can be under the circumstances. I admit to being predisposed to only wanting what is best for you. I am not convinced that this is it.”</p><p>“As my psychiatrist, or as my friend?”</p><p>“Both, in this case, I should think. At the moment, which would you prefer, my personal or professional opinion?”</p><p>“Right now?” Will asked, “I think I’d prefer you to be my friend.”</p><p>“Then, as your friend, I think some wine wouldn’t be amiss.”</p><p>“Wine, your answer is wine,” Will said, unable to help the exasperation and wry amusement that crept into his voice.</p><p>“To help you relax while we talk this through. A white I think, to go with dinner.” Hannibal gestured toward the pantry graciously with a hand before taking up a spoon and dipping its edge into the sauce he was making. He tasted it and looked thoughtful. “Not quite enough mint or thyme.”</p><p>Will blinked, uncertain now. “You want me to get it? Which should I..”</p><p>“Yes Will, I’d like you to select a wine. Whichever takes your fancy.”</p><p>“This could end badly, you know. I don’t know the first thing about what would go with... whatever it is you’re making.”</p><p>Hannibal favored him with a brief close-lipped smile as he began to head to the dining room. “I have complete faith in you. Besides, You’ll be relieved to know I don’t keep bad choices in my pantry. I’ll be but a moment.”</p><p>Will shook his head, smiling faintly before turning to the task given him. He moved to the lone door on the far end of the kitchen, opening it and turning on the overhead light.</p><p>The light snapped on silently, illuminating the small space. His eyes glanced over the storage there, the prep sink, and the full wall of wine. “Christ. How much wine does one man need, exactly?” he murmured aloud, feeling well and truly out of his element. He examined the rows of resting bottles, looking for anything that might classify itself as a white wine. He crouched as he worked his way slowly down the rows that were directly in front of him.</p><p>Near floor level he withdrew a bottle from the rack, eyeing it for a moment before figuring that it was as good of a choice as any other he might make. He pushed himself up from crouching position using the wall for balance. An almost inaudible click issued from the panel he leaned against. He jerked his hand away and cursed softly, wondering if he had broken something.</p><p>The panel shifted on silent hinges, leaving a square of yawning darkness in front of him as it opened, the sharp odor of bleach lingering in the air. A passage. He would never have known it was there, hidden as it was. And while he knew that logically most old houses like this often came equipped with basements, he didn’t think they came quite like this standard.</p><p>Will’s feet carried him forward without any conscious thought. He moved down the stairs half by feel, his steps careful. He couldn’t help himself, flinching curiosity and uncertainty gnawed at his insides, demanding to be soothed.</p><p>His fingers encountered a light switch and he flicked it upward. Bright industrial-grade lights hummed and sputtered to life one by one illuminating the front half of the room. White tile on the floors and walls greeted him, the smell of cleaners so strong that it was reminiscent of being back in the hospital.</p><p>It was cooler down there than it was on the main floor of the house, the heat only venting down through the passage above. Will’s eyes traveled over tables and trays of implements; medical, power tools, and culinary alike. It was all polished to a sheen and within arms reach, just waiting to be picked up and used on something… on someone. His lips parted and he drew in one shallow quavering breath and then another, so quick that he began to feel lightheaded.</p><p>A glint of metal overhead caught his eye. He tipped his head back to look up at it, at the large meat hook that hung suspended directly above a drain in the floor, The length of the chain attached to it on a track that allowed it to be moved across the width of the room.</p><p>The room began to blur in front of him, his eyes darting back and forth. Too much. Too much to process, too much to deal with or take in. Almost entirely too much for him to consider and yet consider it he did. It was stuck there in his mind, the details, both what he knew of Hannibal and that of…</p><p>He takes the organs, his mind supplied. A lover of beautiful things. Dramatic and theatrical presentations. An artist. Intelligent. Methodical. Cultured. Someone with medical knowledge and a good grasp of anatomy.</p><p>He's eating them, his mind supplied.</p><p>Everything was spotless. Stainless steel and ceramics scrubbed, everything aligned to perfection. He’s detail orientated.</p><p>He was shaking.</p><p>He took a step back, and then another, his hand tightening around the bottle of wine he still clutched. He had to get out of this house. He had to get out. He had to get to his car, to get his gun from the trunk and call Jack.</p><p>The sound of his rapid uneven breathing and movements echoed faintly, the quiet making his ears almost ring. A thread of paranoia worked its way up through his body, a feeling of fear and being watched that lingered about the nape of his neck causing him to stop. He turned to look over his shoulder, somehow already knowing what he would find there. The figure of Hannibal Lecter stood but a handful of paces behind him, watching him, face devoid of all emotion.</p><p>“It was you. It was you all along.” Will managed in a soft croak.</p><p>“This is unfortunate,” Hannibal said simply in return, a resigned tone in his voice at what had to be done. It was the only warning he got as Hannibal came at him.</p><p>Will turned and hurled the wine bottle at him, not watching as Hannibal dodged out of the way, letting it shatter nearby. He sprinted for the nearest table for a better weapon but Hannibal was marginally quicker. The bottom of Hannibal’s foot hit the table in question. It went listing sideways, it’s contents spilling in a loud clatter onto the floor, sent rolling every which way.</p><p>He skid to a stop and reversed direction, lunging for the stairs. His feet hit the steps, Hannibal so close behind him that he could swear he felt his breath. Hannibal’s bulk slammed into him suddenly and they both went tumbling into the wall, Will’s body taking the brunt of the impact.</p><p>He cried out, scrambling and fighting Hannibal’s grasping hands to force himself up the short flight of stairs up to the main floor. The wooden stairs bit into his palms and knees as he half crawled up them, clawing at the floor for purchase.</p><p>Will burst through the panel door up into the pantry, trying to get to his feet and reaching for the door when a hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled sharply, sending him flat to the floor.</p><p>“Will!” Hannibal snarled at him through clenched teeth, starting to drag him back.</p><p>He caught the edge of the door frame in both hands. The joints of his fingers strained to hold on, a pain started in his wrist that traveled up into his hands. He twisted, kicking at Hannibal, making small inarticulate sounds of panic, unable to scream in his fear.</p><p>He broke free after one particularly solid kick, fumbling his way out onto the floor of the kitchen. He staggered a few clumsy steps and fell on his knees only to have Hannibal catch hold of him again, shoving him down under his greater weight. He pinned him there on his stomach, crouching down over him and using his legs to pin Will’s arms down as he began to strangle him in earnest.</p><p>All of the fury had melted out of Hannibal, only cold clinical determination remaining as he pressed upon Will’s windpipe, riding his struggles out with the certainty of someone who had already won and knew it.</p><p>Will gasped for air and found none, an insubstantial rasp escaping him. His thrashing weakened. Black crowded in on the edges of his wavering vision, making his eyes water as the world was blotted out.</p><hr/><p>Will’s eyes fluttered open. His throat felt bruised, and he instinctively tried to raise his hand to it, only to find his efforts restricted, a sharp clack of metal against metal. He turned his head to look down the length of his arm to find it handcuffed to the side of the padded exam table he was laying on. His other wrist was likewise immobilized on the other side, allowing him only a hint of movement. There was a strap across his neck that held him prone, though his legs were mercifully free, for all the good it did him.</p><p>There was soft classical music playing in the background, accompanied by the sound of humming as Hannibal moved about the room, gathering things and putting them on a rolling table. The sounds of Will yanking on his restraints and squirming on the table didn’t even give him pause.</p><p>Hannibal guided the table over to him and began to sterilize his hands. “Welcome back,” he said as pleasantly as if they were meeting over coffee and he wasn’t trapped in Hannibal’s butchering space.</p><p>Because that was what this obviously was. It was less a surgery suite than it was a prep space. Will had no illusions about the things that happened here.</p><p>Hannibal unwrapped a pair of plastic gloves and deftly pulled them on with long-practiced ease. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Does it matter?” Will asked. He sounded angry despite his best efforts to do otherwise, his throat had a gravelly strained quality. He did his best to turn away as Hannibal reached for him but ultimately could do nothing but submit when he took hold of his jaw and held him steady, probing at a tender bruised area of skin near his temple with his fingers. He made a soft sound of discomfort.</p><p>“Of course it does,” Hannibal said, releasing him and turning toward the table to unwrap a needle and tubing. He smiled as he did so, buoyant with visible pleasure. “Just because the details of our relationship have taken a sudden turn, it changes very few things where we’re concerned. I admit I could never completely predict you, Will. Even if this was all a happy accident, you’ve managed to skew all of my careful planning quite admirably.”</p><p>“Sorry.” Will bit out.</p><p>“Yes. I’ll just bet you are, but not to worry, I’ve already consigned myself to finding a way through it.” Hannibal said, favoring him with a fond expression; as if he had done something particularly endearing. He sat down on a wheeled stool and took him by the hand, wrapping a tourniquet around his arm and turning the appendage carefully over to begin feeling for a vein.</p><p>Will considered fighting it but what was the point when he had no hope of getting away. At best, he could hope that Hannibal’s affection and good mood would keep him from parting him from his organs while he was still alive, which was a very real possibility.</p><p>Will winced a little when Hannibal slid the needle in, though in truth he hardly felt it, the small pinch less than the feeling of the tourniquet being pulled off with a snap. He wondered just how long he had left. Surely if he wanted to bleed him out, Hannibal would have opened an artery instead of using something quite so small.</p><p>Will chose to gaze up at the ceiling instead of watching as his blood began to slowly drain, jaw stiffening and relaxing as he grit his teeth together. Regret and melancholy welled up in him abrupt and unavoidable. When he felt his eyes begin to sting he closed them, all too aware that he couldn’t shut the world out but unwilling to let himself fall apart right here, right now.</p><p>“Will you let them out?” he asked softly.</p><p>When only quiet greeted him, Will turned his head enough to look at Hannibal once more. He had an openly searching expression on his face, thoughtful but giving nothing away.</p><p>“I assume you are referring to your dogs?” Hannibal asked finally.</p><p>“They shouldn’t have to suffer. They aren’t part of this. Don’t hurt them to hurt me.”</p><p>“I have no great desire to hurt you, Will”</p><p>“But you will,” Will said with some finality, knowing it to be true. Knowing it as if the decision was somehow his own.</p><p>“If and when I have to, yes. I will.” Hannibal agreed.</p><p>“You don’t have to do anything. You could let me go. We could go our separate ways. We don’t have to do this. You said we were friends.”</p><p>“We are friends,” Hannibal confirmed. Present tense, he noticed. “I will always think of us as such, but I will also do what is required to keep myself from being found. I’m not selfless enough to do otherwise, even for you.”</p><p>“Please, Hannibal.”</p><p>“I won’t let you go. I can’t. Do not ask for things you already know I won’t give and do not beg, Will, it's tiresome to listen to.”</p><p>Will laughed at that but it was precariously close to turning into a sob. A miserable sound.</p><p>“But… perhaps I might suggest a compromise.” Hannibal offered. A trace of hesitance could be noted in his voice as if he hadn't yet decided on the matter. “Tell me, Will, would you be willing to behave yourself, if I asked?”</p><p>“Yes.” The response was near automatic, and while he wasn’t altogether sure just what it was that Hannibal wanted from him, he wasn’t ready to die. He would have agreed to a lot of things, even a deal with the devil himself almost. If Hannibal wanted him to behave then chances were good that he might last a while longer. Time gave him the chance to escape. “I just need you to be clear about your… expectations.”</p><p>“Then I’ll consider letting them out.” Hannibal agreed softly. The corners of his mouth had tipped up once more, hinting at a smile.</p><p>It wasn’t a promise, Will noticed. He wondered how much Hannibal’s consideration was truly worth but he wasn’t in a position to question it. Not out loud at least.</p><p>Hannibal leaned in and cupped his cheek with one hand, murmuring to him in what might be considered a kind but firm tone. “Tell me who knows you’re here.”</p><p>Will shook his head at that. “No one does.”</p><p>“Are you lying to me?” Hannibal asked. He was studying him very seriously now, searching his face for any deception.</p><p>“No. I just said I was going home. I hadn’t planned to come here.”</p><p>“No,” Hannibal repeated, seeming satisfied with whatever it was that he saw. “Because you know what I would do to them if someone did, and you know what I might do to you if I found out you were keeping things from me.”</p><p>“Fear makes for a good motivator,” Will admitted.</p><p>“Fear is healthy, a necessary element of adaptation and growth,” Hannibal remarked in return.</p><p>Before he thought it through, his curiosity got the better of him. “What are you planning to do with my blood?” Will asked, the need to know what was happening to him greatly outweighing most everything else no matter how dangerous.</p><p>“A parting gift for Jack, I think,” Hannibal said quietly, looking at him, matching himself if not to Will’s mood, then at least to his soft tone as if they were somehow sharing a secret. Perhaps to Hannibal it was. Just one more detail of his design for the FBI to find and try to draw conclusions from.</p><p>When Hannibal was finished, he pressed a cotton ball firmly to the crook of Will’s arm and taped it in place. Will watched him warily as he packed the blood in a small nearby cooler. He unwrapped a syringe and prepped it carefully with liquid from a small labeled bottle.</p><p>“What's that?” Will asked as Hannibal grew near, and this time he did try to pull away from him, shrinking against the table as far as he could as Hannibal reached for him, stilling him with a heavy hand.</p><p>“It would be best if you don’t tense up,” Hannibal murmured.</p><p>There was a sharp pinch as the needle entered the meat of his thigh, but then it was quickly removed, leaving behind a dull burning ache. Hannibal massaged the area a little before releasing his hold. “There, let's just give that a few minutes to work.”</p><p>“Hannibal…”</p><p>“Shh. It’ll be alright. Sleep, Will”.</p><p>Drowsiness crept in at Will suddenly on all sides, threatening to pull him under. He looked up at Hannibal, not realizing he had lost his fight with stoicism until the pad of Hannibal’s thumb smoothed away wetness just under his eye.</p><p>“I’m going to take good care of you,” Hannibal whispered, bringing his dampened finger up to examine it. The last thing he saw before he fell unconscious was a hazed vision of the Chesapeake Ripper tasting his tears.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you would like an update on where I am in writing the next chapter, please feel free to visit <a href="https://relagorikt.carrd.co/">  my online profile</a>, I keep a progress meter there updated frequently.</p><div class="center">
  <p>✦══✦══✦</p>
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    <p>Will opened his eyes to see Hannibal standing over him, taking his pulse. The man smiled at him when their eyes met but he turned to an IV bag that hung on a stand next to the bed...</p><p>Will opened his eyes to the sound of Hannibal’s voice, a soothing soft timbre rising and falling, paced rather than conversational. The words slipped by him, their meaning indistinguishable to his ears. He turned his head toward the sound, finding Hannibal reading aloud as he sat in a chair next to his bedside...</p><p>Will opened his eyes and then let them close, the world a slow hazy blur. The drag of metal grating against concrete heard before he slipped under once again...</p><p>Will opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. long slim rectangles of light swam across his view, radiating golden as it crested outward, a corona of afterimage. He squinted against the glare as the lights began to solidify into proper shape. The feeling of hands moving on his bare skin warm, confusing at first, yet it was a balm against the cool air of the basement.</p><p>Hannibal flexed his leg upwards at the knee and then back, smoothing his hands down the length of his bare leg to his foot. He then flexed his foot at the ankle downward and back gently. Hannibal’s thumbs drew down the center of the arch of his foot and then back again and began to knead, his focus absolute.</p><p>Will licked his lips to try and moisten them, mouth parched and just a little sticky. He looked around the room to find things righted and almost entirely barren, all of the implements that had formerly been so openly displayed now tucked away from view. Aside from the tables themselves, it seemed that Hannibal had very few things at hand. His eyes moved back to Hannibal, watching him work for a moment before attempting to speak.</p><p>“I think we’ll need significantly more beer for this.” he managed groggily.</p><p>Hannibal glanced up at him with that barely-there half-smile he sometimes got, but he didn’t stop in what he was doing. “Is that so?” he asked, eyes down turned. He sounded warm and conversational.</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t want to be tough.”</p><p>“Perish the thought.” Hannibal agreed lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners at Will’s words. “Not quite what I had in mind. However, once you are no longer addled I think I can manage to find something for you if you like”</p><p>“I don’t.”</p><p>To this Hannibal merely inclined his head in acknowledgment.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Will asked because really this was new and just a bit forward even by Hannibal’s standards. Then again, there was some uncertainty just as to if he knew much about him at all. He wasn’t naked but he felt like it, clad in a cotton hospital gown that wasn’t by any means of modern make.</p><p>“Lying prone for long periods of time can lead to a variety of potential ailments; Blood clots, bed sores, muscle atrophy, and loss of flexibility. I am merely lessening the likelihood that they should occur.”</p><p>“Because you care <em>so</em> <em>much</em> about my well being?” he said. He was unable to help how snide and sharp the words came out.</p><p>Hannibal’s fingers tightened on his leg to the point where it hinted at the pain he was capable of inflicting, if he was so inclined. “Do not mock me, Will. You’ll find my tolerance of such things will only be tested so much.” he said in a low serious tone. A threat, a warning, a chastisement, all in one.</p><p>“Sorry.” He mouthed. He wasn’t, of course, or at least he doesn’t think he should be under the circumstances but he cleared his voice to try again. “I’m sorry”</p><p>“You are forgiven.”</p><p>“Just like that?”</p><p>“Just so.” Hannibal agreed magnanimously.</p><p>“Hannibal, they’ll find me. You know they’ll look for me.”</p><p>“Oh no, I don’t think so. Not anymore. Though you are undoubtedly missed.”</p><p>“You can’t just keep me here like this.”</p><p>Hannibal’s eyebrows rose at this and he pursed his lips, his voice mild. “Can’t I? I believe that is exactly what I have been doing.”</p><p>Will gripped the bar of the bed with whatever energy he could muster together, trembling as he hoisted himself up. The world threatened to pitch him back and Hannibal stood to move around the bed to him. He was still shackled to it by one wrist but the other was free.</p><p>“Easy. Easy, Will.” Hannibal grasped his shoulder, Attempting to steady him, though he began to list sideways. “Don’t push yourself so quickly.”</p><p>Will's forehead came to rest against Hannibal’s chest. It was only telling as to what sort of state he was in that he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was a feat just to be upright. Tubes pulled with each movement, adding to his discomfort. Hannibal’s fingers ran through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp. It was meant to be comforting, Will knew, but there was a possessiveness and familiarity about it that he couldn’t quite get past.</p><p>“Jack will-” he started.</p><p>“Think you are already dead. He doesn’t know for sure of course, and a small part of him will always wonder about it, wonder if he’s given up too quickly and about your end. It will eat at him at night when there is nothing else to keep his mind occupied. Another loss, a dark mark on his career and peace of mind.” Hannibal finished for him.</p><p>Will put his hand flat against Hannibal’s chest and pushed himself back as hard as he was able. It was hardly the shove he would have preferred, but putting space between them would have to be enough.</p><p>“It’s no less than he deserves.” Hannibal continued. “He knew what he would be sacrificing when he put you out there. Your safety, your health, your grip on reality, your ability to maintain the life you had. They were all things in his hands.”</p><p>“And now they’re in your hands.”</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>“And what do you deserve?” Will bit out through his teeth.</p><p>Hannibal smiled at that, gently brushing hair back away from Will’s face. “Whatever we reap, we’ve sown, every one of us. Am I less deserving when I have tended my garden more carefully than he has?” he said.</p><p>“Garden? No.” Will shook his head in exasperation and leveled him a wary look. “You mean livestock, don’t you? The scales have fallen from my eyes, Hannibal. Let's not dress things up with pretty words and play pretend. We’ve already crossed that line. I see you for exactly what you are.”</p><p>“As you like. In that case, let me be plain. No one is actively looking for you, Will. For a time they looked for your body. When none presented itself, they needed to shift their focus to other cases. Alana has planned a memorial for you this next Friday. To say goodbye.”</p><p>The finality of that statement made him pause.</p><p>Will stared up at him with parted lips, looking for… anything. Some sort of indication it might be a lie. Some ripple of expression but Hannibal only remained reserved and watchful.</p><p>“It’s not true,” he whispered.</p><p>“Denial does not make things untrue. It will not chase the monsters out from under your bed, nor will it protect you. You know this better than most.” Hannibal said.</p><p>He did. He knew exactly the sorts of things people did to one another. He had seen the varying shades of it throughout his life, the callous, the cruel, the selfish, as a profiler and before that as a homicide detective. As far back as perhaps his childhood, he saw.</p><p>Still…</p><p>It didn’t make sense to him.</p><p>“How long have I been here?” he asked.</p><p>“Just over three weeks.”</p><p>Will fell silent. Something in him shifted. The knowledge that they had given up like a vast pit opening up beneath him. He only had himself to rely on now, it seemed.</p><p>“Are you beginning to understand your predicament?" Hannibal asked neutrally, and he wanted to hit him for it.</p><p>“Three weeks… what have you been doing to me?”</p><p>“Some of the medications I have given you can affect memory. What do you remember?”</p><p>Will shook his head, brow knitted. He looked away, unable to stomach looking at Hannibal for long as he thought about it. “Not a lot. We were discussing Georgia Madchen, and the case. You were cooking. I went to get wine. We fought, you… drew my blood, then you gave me something.”</p><p>“And then?” Hannibal prompted.</p><p>Will shook his head once more. “And then, just… flashes of things. Bits and pieces.”</p><p>“That’s good. I prefer that you were spared from the worst of it. You grew feverish. You were quite uncomfortable. Delirious. I had to keep you sedated. I’ve only just adjusted your medications but assuming that you continue to take antivirals properly, I believe you’ll make a full recovery.”</p><p>“You said I wasn’t sick. Why should I believe you?”</p><p>“What choice do you have?”</p><p>What choice <em>did</em> he have really?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Will lay on his side on the twin bed of his cell and traced his fingers against the bricks of the nearest wall, taking in the careful lay of each brick and the perfect sculpt of the mortar in between. Hannibal had done it himself. Even had there been any allowance for someone else to have done it, he’d have been able to tell.</p><p>Calling it a room was charitable, he thought, though Hannibal had done just that. The pipes that had been run down there hinted in fact that at one point there very likely was a proper bathroom, or that there‘d been plans for one at least.</p><p>It had been divided at some point, a shower on the outside, a sink and toilet inside the cell itself, but with room left over to accommodate the bed. The walls were unfinished. Toward the ceiling, a gap of at least two feet was left tantalizingly visible, yet also up high. Unreachable by most people’s standards. He found himself wondering not for the first time if this had been done on purpose or if Hannibal simply hadn’t thought it an important detail.</p><p>The door and bars were consumer-grade, the sort meant to keep people out rather than in but in this they worked the same. He had been around the room several times, testing for defects and finding nothing he could exploit.</p><p>That was hours ago. Enough that he had already lost track of time. A single light hung over his space, ran over the top with an extension cord, and hung from the tall ceiling. Hannibal had been kind enough to not leave him in the dark. Also, enough to trade the hospital gown for sleep clothes that he would have sworn had been Hannibal’s own if it wasn’t for how well they fit him.</p><p>The sound of soft footfalls on the stairs had him sitting up and watching for Hannibal. The lights came up and when he did appear it was still in a tie and jacket as if he had hurried down directly as soon as he had arrived. He had a zipped garment bag draped over one arm. A boy eager to play with a new toy, Will thought.</p><p>“Long day at the office, Dear?” Will asked.</p><p>To this Hannibal smiled. “Less so when I have no need to wait for your arrival.”</p><p>That would make it a Monday, he thought. He stood from the bed and moved to the bars, gripping them with his hands and looking out at his captor.</p><p>“Do we still have an appointment?” he asked.</p><p>“Not as such, though I know this is a difficult time for you. You are certainly welcome to tell me of your thoughts. I am more than willing to guide you through this time in your life and ease the transition. ”</p><p>Will snorted softly at that. “I bet. I’m not sure that you could help me with this particular problem.”</p><p>“You say this because I am the reason for it?”</p><p>“I say this because I’m not able to imagine a result that isn’t thick with self-interest.”</p><p>“You doubt my impartiality.”</p><p>Will regarded him with an arched eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you?”</p><p>“If I were in your shoes? Perhaps. Though knowing what I do of myself, I would also know that I want the best possible outcome.” Hannibal said carefully as he lay the garment bag out on the nearest table and unzipped it.</p><p>It was a suit because of course it was. With Hannibal, he could have scarcely thought it to be anything else. However, it lacked the vibrant patterns that Hannibal tended to favor, and was instead a solid rich blue fabric.</p><p>He watched as Hannibal removed the pieces and lay them out with such preciseness that it boarded on compulsive. Hannibal then offered him a pair of dark socks, and a soft yellow pinstripe shirt through the bars.</p><p>He glanced down at them and then stared at Hannibal, debating what would happen if he refused. He was fairly sure that Hannibal could make him if he was so inclined and that might be, was, in fact, likely to be, something much worse if pushed.</p><p>“Please,” Hannibal said politely.</p><p>They were still playing at civility, it seemed. Will reached out and took the items, before retreating a few steps back and half turning away from him to change.</p><p>He cast a look back at him over his shoulder as he spoke, finding Hannibal’s attention turned away from him and at least allowing him some pretense at privacy. “When I agreed to behave, I wasn’t aware it would include being dressed up like a doll,” he said.</p><p>Hannibal smoothed the fabric of the slacks with one hand, both in appreciation and care. “Do you feel demeaned, Will? Let me assure you that was not my intention. I could not very well pack clothes from your own wardrobe as it would be noticed.”</p><p>“And you like this better.”</p><p>“That is true,” Hannibal said without shame. He handed the pants off to Will when he approached the bars once more.</p><p>“It would be a lie to pretend I don’t find enjoyment in the act of making these selections, nor can I say I won’t appreciate the sight of you in them.” Hannibal continued. He turned to look at Will when he was dressed and then pulled something from his pocket and offered it to Will. “I regret the necessity. If you would fit this to your legs, clasps in back.”</p><p>Will reached out to take the object, looking at it with a frown. Black plastic coated metal straps, flexible links rather than stiff with a locking clasp and a tether in between. Not something he could take off on his own, at least not without a bolt cutter and not something easily picked open.</p><p>“Shackles?” he asked.</p><p>“A hobble.” Hannibal corrected. “There will need to be rules in this arrangement, Will, as I’m sure you can appreciate the sort of situation we both find ourselves in. While I am at home, you will be free to move about just so long as you stay within my view. At night while I am asleep or when I am away, you will remain in your room. If you behave yourself, I will consider giving you more considerations. This is what I am willing to offer.”</p><p>“More <em>considerations</em>…” Will repeated softly. He continued to <em>consider</em> the hobble for a long quiet moment, before finally looking up at Hannibal once more. “And if I don’t behave?” he couldn’t help but ask.</p><p>Hannibal’s expression sharpened slightly as they observed one another. And though he could not tell what exactly, Will knew. In his mind's eye, the shape of the tableau he would make should he prove himself unbending threatened to take form.</p><p>“I would be…" Hannibal took an audbible breath, thoughtful.  "disappointed,” he murmured.</p><p>Will studied Hannibal as he slowly backed up the few steps to his bed, sitting down on it when he felt the edge of the mattress against his legs. He only looked away when he bent down to loop the straps around his ankles, each lock giving a firm snap as it was closed.</p><p>He stood and test his shortened range of movement. He would have to be careful and go slow or risk falling, which was the point of it all. There would be no running from Hannibal Lecter. Any escape attempt he made would have to be well-timed and opportunistic.</p><p>“Uncomfortable?” Hannibal asked.</p><p>“No. Not really.”</p><p>“Good.” Hannibal said, “Now, Your arm if you please.” He took a syringe from his pocket and uncapped it, presenting his hand so that Will could take it.</p><p>“What… what’s in it?” Will asked. He was wary after the last time Hannibal injected something into him, wary of losing more time and control.</p><p>“Would it make you less anxious if I told you what I was doing beforehand?”</p><p>“I don’t know. A little bit, maybe. I don’t like not knowing.”</p><p>“I’m giving you diazepam. It won’t put you out if that is what you’re worried about. Just something to help you relax. The alternative is that I leave you down here. We can do that Will, but I don’t want life to be like that, and if you think about it I think you’ll find you don’t either.” Hannibal said.</p><p>He didn’t. He was sick of being in here already, sick of staring at the same few walls for hours with nothing else to focus on but the near claustrophobic feeling of being trapped alone.</p><p>Will drew in a deep steadying breath and stepped closer, reaching up to lay his hand in Hannibal’s through the bars.</p><p>“Thank you,” Hannibal said, drawing him in closer and skimming his still unbuttoned sleeve upward.</p><p>There was the soft bite of the needle, hardly anything at all, and then gone. A strange feeling started to steal over Will as the drug entered his bloodstream. Hannibal continued to hold onto his hand long after the syringe was discarded into a nearby tray.</p><p>Hannibal gave him a small smile. He brought their joined hands up to his lips, and pressed them to the back of Will's fingers, looking well pleased.</p><p>“Good. That is good, Will. Now, let us prepare for dinner.”</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Perceptions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>I want to thank you guys for all of your patience, I know that it is a bit on the slow going side. Also thank you for your kind comments. Please know that I read and cherish every one. They help tremendously in the moments I am second guessing myself about interest in what I am writing. </p>
  <p>There will be more deviation about the time of year and the specifics of when things happen.</p>
  <p>If you would like an update on where I am in writing the next chapter, please feel free to visit <a href="https://relagorikt.carrd.co/">  my online profile</a>, I keep a progress meter there updated frequently.</p>
  <p>✦══✦══✦</p>
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    <p>Skillful fingers worked the fine silk fabric around Will’s neck, folding it just so before tightening the knot and straightening it. Hannibal maneuvered around him smoothly and helped ease the dark blue fabric of the jacket up his arms and over his shoulders. </p><p>“No shoes?” Will asked curiously. It felt a bit funny to be so dressed up but neglect that one part.</p><p>“You won’t need them.” came Hannibal’s soft reassurance. No, he supposed not. No need for shoes when you didn’t go outside.</p><p>Hannibal’s hands lingered, fussing with the lay of his collar before he was satisfied with whatever he saw, and Will let him. Let him, and turned to lean into him when all was said and done. Let himself be supported and led up the narrow staircase on still shaky legs back through the pantry, out onto the main floor. Let himself be deposited in the nearest chair, a dark leather thing that sat just inside next to a bookcase looking onto the kitchen. </p><p>Hannibal offered him a glass of red wine, one of two that sat on the kitchen island next to an already open bottle. He watched Hannibal silently bring his own glass up to breathe in the aroma before taking a small sip.</p><p>“You knew I would come with you. That I’d agree to this.” Will said. </p><p>Hannibal set the glass aside to undo and remove both his jacket and waistcoat, readying himself to cook. </p><p>“I had hoped,” Hannibal said.</p><p>“No, you knew.” Will accused softly. He couldn’t help the small sad smile that came to his lips, nor the way he said it, eyes averted, his tone holding a hint of misplaced affection. “You definitely knew.”</p><p>When he did look up, he found his expression was mirrored by Hannibal’s own and it soured something inside of him. For as tender and genuine as the expression appeared to be, he wasn’t sure just how much of it could be trusted. </p><p>He looked down into his wine instead, carefully rolling the glass in his hand so that the dark liquid rocked within as Hannibal moved around the space. He lifted it to his mouth and paused, before ultimately tipping it back in one long swallow.</p><p>“What are you planning to do with me?” Will asked.</p><p>“Do? Must I <em>do</em> anything with you, Will? Is there some expectation you would like played out between us?” Hannibal asked in return. </p><p>“You aren’t going to answer me, are you?”</p><p>“Perhaps you are focusing on the wrong question.”</p><p>He considered this for a long moment, considered if not that question what other he might ask instead. </p><p>“What do you want from me?” Will tried again. He spoke low and sedate. A side effect of the drugs that were in his system no doubt, small amounts as they were. They didn’t addle him, not really, but they made him feel fuzzy around the edges.</p><p>“What I have always wanted from you. Nothing has changed here.” Hannibal said.</p><p>“Everything’s changed.” Will countered.</p><p>“Merely perceptions. You and I remain the same. The world remains the same.”</p><p>It was such a Hannibal answer that Will snorted with quiet laughter, or maybe it was the combination of wine and drugs that made it funny. Who could tell at this point. He let his head fall back against the back of the chair and continued to grin grimly, bitterness a living burning thing inside him. “I don’t feel the same,” he admitted. “Was that by circumstance, or design?”</p><p>“Both,” Hannibal said genially, picking up the wine bottle and drifting over to refill Will’s glass. He let him, lifting it to make it easier for him to do so.</p><p>“Should I be drinking, Doctor?”</p><p>“You are under supervision. Have no fear that I will let anything too detrimental happen to you, ”</p><p>“Nothing that you don’t intend.”</p><p>Hannibal said nothing to that but inclined his head in acknowledgment and gracefully pivoted on a heel to go and see how the oven was coming along. He bent down to the temperature dial, and carefully adjusted the heat under the skillet before adding in butter and garlic, and beginning to stir. </p><p>Will watched Hannibal for a while as he worked in silence, not asking or caring just what it was he was working on. He knew it would be perfectly cooked and assembled, an art for the senses in every possible way. He also knew that it was very likely that it wasn’t anything he’d actually want to eat now that he knew just who Hannibal was and what he did.</p><p>He was fine up until Hannibal removed the cover from a container and began carefully laying pieces of meat into the hot frying pan, the smell of browning flesh driving him bodily from the chair to lurch short strides through the dining room. </p><p>“I’m going to be sick.” Will choked out.</p><p>“Will,” Hannibal called after him. “Come sit down.” but Will wasn’t listening anymore. </p><p>He wrenched the dining-room door open and spilled into the dark hallway beyond, stumbling and catching himself on the wall before continuing forward. He did not doubt that Hannibal was somewhere just behind him, coming to intercept him, but the front door wasn’t where he was headed. He wouldn’t have been foolish enough to make such an attempt. Instead, he shoved through the partially open door to the hall bathroom and promptly collapsed down onto his knees, dry retching.</p><p>Sweat beaded on his skin, damp and suffocating as his body wavered first hot and then cold and back again. Faintness threatened to take him down if he didn’t go there of his own accord. He fumbled at the buttons of the jacket he was wearing, shrugged it off, and sank to the floor flat on his back.</p><p>It was only a moment later that Hannibal made himself known, sliding an arm under him, his other hand getting a good grip on Will’s leg.</p><p>“Please don’t, I need to be still,” he begged, but Hannibal bodily lifted and resettled him onto his side facing away from him. One of Hannibal’s hands lifted his head and then a folded towel slipped underneath. He was aware under the swell of nausea of the tap running distantly. It stopped and a cold wet washcloth pressed to his forehead. </p><p>“My apologies,” Hannibal murmured. “I believe I have greatly underestimated how sensitive your stomach might be under the circumstances. It's probably the antivirals that are making you feel like this.” </p><p>“I felt fine and then it just hit me,” Will said. </p><p>It occurred to him that Hannibal was undoubtedly kneeling on the bathroom floor in his expensive clothes. He made an abortive attempt to turn his head to look but quickly changed his mind when the queasiness worsened with the movement, and instead closed his eyes.</p><p>“Do you think you might make it to the living room?” Hannibal asked.</p><p>“Not yet.”</p><p>“Just rest a while then,” Hannibal said and let the quiet stretch between them. He wasn’t quite sure just how long he lay there in the cool dark bathroom, just that he had no desire to move until he was sure the worst of it had passed him by. Hannibal’s hands returned to him after a time, rousing him. </p><p>“Will. Let's try to get up, shall we?” Hannibal urged, helping him back up onto his feet and leading him not to the kitchen but the dining room. There was a fresh scent and coolness to the air that hadn’t been there before as if a window had been opened. </p><p>Will paused in the doorway and looked from the table where several perfectly arranged plates now rested to Hannibal. His lips parted with baffled astonishment. The bastard had left him in the bathroom unsupervised while he went back to the kitchen to make food and he hadn’t even noticed. He had heard absolutely nothing, wouldn’t have even considered the possibility of such a thing under the circumstances and Hannibal had the gall to stand there looking faintly pleased with himself.</p><p>“Come. Sit.” Hannibal prompted gently and guided him forward to the seat just right of the head of the table. Hannibal’s hands held him steady as he was delivered into the chair, and though now jacketless, Hannibal smoothed his clothing and pushed him in before taking a seat of his own.</p><p>The table was set with mostly cold fare, no sign of meat, cooked or otherwise, within view or in the air. Lightly toasted pieces of bread sat in a bowl amidst an array of spreads. Cut fruit, some drizzled in thin syrup or honey. A variety of thinly sliced or spooned cheeses and yogurt. Things that would be inoffensive to him. Things that would be easier on his sense of smell and stomach. Hannibal was making an exception for him. </p><p>Will wasn’t quite sure how he felt about this new thoughtfulness. He waited quietly as Hannibal settled himself and reached for a slim glass pitcher, pouring for them both. It wasn’t wine. Some kind of juice. He didn’t want to feel grateful and he didn’t think he should have to considering that all of this was Hannibal’s doing, and yet the feeling was as inescapable as the man himself.</p><p>“Thank you,” he whispered.</p><p>“You’ll feel better when we get some food in you,” Hannibal murmured back as if there was no question of this. As if just him saying so was enough to make it a reality. Hannibal’s will and want made reality amidst the fabric of the universe. Hannibal’s Will made as he saw fit.</p><p>Hannibal’s dark red-brown eyes watched him avidly in the dim glow of the fireplace that burned behind Will, the reflection of light playing against his high fine features and in his eyes, so like Mephistopheles, locked to Will’s own. It was all that he could do to avert his gaze and concentrate on the food, to remind himself of the things Hannibal was capable of.</p><p>“Kindness and cruelty in equal measure,” Will stated aloud as he picked up his fork and took his first small bite. Immediately the flavor of sweet plum and tart citrus spread across his tongue, somehow balancing itself out, neither too sweet nor too sour.</p><p>“Of course. Like all living things.” Hannibal said with fond sincerity. “Someday I may have to kill you, Will, but let it not be today, tomorrow, or the next. The choice is of course yours to make, how long you stay with me and when or if it should end. This doesn't have to be a struggle, Will. You don't have to pretend or hide here." </p><p>
  <em> Not with me.  </em>
</p><p>Hannibal didn’t say it, but somehow those words hung there in the space between them. Will paused with his fork close to his lips briefly at the words before he forced himself to put it in his mouth. </p><p>"What would I be if I didn't struggle?" Will asked, unable to help but be curious about the answer.</p><p>"Content, just possibly."</p><p>He had his doubts.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>There was a repetitive cycle to Will’s days. </p><p>If Hannibal had to work, it started with him being awoken and allowed up for breakfast early, usually already made. Sometimes Hannibal would allow him to linger in the kitchen with him, to thumb through the nearby bookshelf, or to watch him, making small conversation.</p><p>He would go back to his room afterwards, locked in with some small collection of food that didn’t need to be kept refrigerated, and stay there until Hannibal returned in the evening. Fruit, nuts, some kind of bread, or muffins were the usual sorts of things Hannibal would leave him with. He’d spend all day in pajamas until inevitably Hannibal would return, let him shower under the open showerhead on the other side of his cell wall, shave with an electric razor, and then have him dress and keep him company for dinner. They would then retire to the living room or study and remain there until it was time for bed. Hannibal worked a lot more than Will had thought previously. Hannibal also had a busy social life, so on some evenings, he would hardly be home at all. </p><p>A week went by, maybe two. It was hard to keep track with no access to a calendar or need to be anywhere. It was just when the sameness of his days started to blur into one another that things changed.</p><p>Late one night after he had been put away, the basement nearly dark aside from a small side lamp that Hannibal had left on for him, Will was startled from sleep. It was sometime in the early morning hours when he heard footsteps, heavier than usual, followed by the weighty sound of something following Hannibal down with a jarring clack as he took each stair.</p><p>Will stood and moved sock footed to the bars, gripping them as he waited for him. Hannibal’s feet appeared first as he backed down the stairs one step at a time, a moment later the back of a wheelchair, tipped up at an angle, following. Its occupant was wrapped up in a blanket and slumped inside. Hannibal readjusted his hold as he hit the small landing and the rest was relatively quick and easy work, not so large an incline to worry about. By the time Hannibal reached the basement floor he was trying to catch his breath.</p><p>“That’s the problem with secret murder basements, no easy way to have an elevator put in without people asking questions.” Will quipped. There was blandness in his tone where levity should have been, but somehow he just couldn't manage it. He certainly didn't feel it.</p><p>Hannibal just turned and looked at him, pursing his lips. He was clearly not impressed, but Will also didn't think he was irate, or at least not where he was concerned.</p><p>“No, I suppose a shack out in the wilderness would be more practical.” Hannibal agreed.</p><p>“There’s a reason it’s a popular stereotype.” </p><p>“If also not aesthetically pleasing, nor sanitary.”</p><p>Will gave a half-hearted shrug as if to say ‘what can you do’. He had long settled himself with the prospect of this eventuality, it had just been a matter of when it would happen and to whom. Selfishly perhaps, he was just glad it wouldn’t be him on the table. Self-preservation was at the forefront of his priorities now. If he could help someone else then he would, but it didn’t seem very likely under the circumstances. </p><p>“I don’t think sanitation rates on the top of most killer’s lists. Most of them aren’t <em>eating</em> their victims.” Will said.</p><p>“More’s the pity,” Hannibal replied. He seemed to gather himself up at that, drawing in a long steadying breath and despite whatever strain he had felt in doing so, easily put his discomforts aside and began to work. </p><p>Hannibal sanitized the table he’d be using and then lifted the prone man from the chair up onto its surface. As he did so, the blanket that had been wrapped around the man fell away from his face and Will was given pause because Hannibal’s newest house guest was Abel Gideon.  </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Circumstances</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Slowly trucking away on this. I know that it takes me a little bit to get chapters out, please rest assured that I am doing my best to work on it. Thank you guys for bearing with me. Please enjoy.</p><p>If you would like an update on where I am in writing the next chapter, please feel free to visit <a href="https://relagorikt.carrd.co/">  my online profile</a>, I keep a progress meter there updated frequently.</p><div class="center">
  <p>✦══✦══✦</p>
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    <p>Will was made to casually bear witness to the event. </p><p>He could have turned his face away. Could have covered his head and pretended that what was happening in front of him didn’t exist. He could have pretended to be somewhere else, anywhere else, other than the semi-chill confines of Hannibal Lecter’s basement, but it would have disappointed Hannibal. He couldn’t afford to be the source of that disappointment. </p><p>Almost worse still, it would have felt disrespectful to Abel, to turn away and deny what was happening to him. So he rested his head against the bars and watched. The rise and fall of Hannibal’s smoky voice filtered through his collective mental fugue, calmly explaining what he was doing step by agonizing step, Will the reluctant onlooker, Hannibal the patient guide. Gideon was mercifully unconscious for it. No, this wasn’t for or about Gideon at all, he thought. </p><p>This was meant for Will. </p><p>“A bone saw is needed next. Electrical is easiest, quicker, but I have something of a nostalgia for the manual versions despite the work involved.” Hannibal said. </p><p>Will was far enough away that he was missing a lot of the more intricate details of the surgery. He had seen enough postmortems that bodies alone rarely bothered him anymore, but the fact that Gideon remained very much alive added a thread of tremulous tension to his disposition that otherwise wouldn't have been there. </p><p>“That’s because you’re a sadist,” he muttered.</p><p>“Am I?” Hannibal asked conversationally. “That has yet to be proven with any substantiality.”  </p><p>His eyes lifted only briefly from his work to rest on Will before refocusing on his work. Rather than what a Doctor would wear, Hannibal wore a heavy plastic butcher’s apron over his dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up like he did when he was about to make dinner, and Will supposed in a sense that was still true to form. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to look at Hannibal’s forearms without connecting it with this moment. It was undoubtedly sterile, as Hannibal seemed to thrive on cleanliness and order, but it made the view he presented far less bearable. This couldn’t be anything other than what it was and Hannibal didn’t want it to be. No pretty lies here, no illusions. </p><p>
  <em> See me.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Know all of me. </em>
</p><p>“You want to feel it. You want to feel the blade reverberate as it moves against the bone. You want to feel the moment it bites through to the other side. You want the satisfaction of expending your energy into it. A job well done.”</p><p>“None of those observations have to do with enjoying pain, dear Will. Perhaps you are projecting what you would like to believe of me onto reality to make yourself feel better.” Hannibal speculated. </p><p>Hannibal sniffed lightly as he found his place, and then reached over with one bloody gloved hand toward his tools. He rolled his shoulders a bit before putting saw to bone, working it at an angle, the rough rhythmic grate of the saw moving at counterpoint with the sweet barely-there melody of the aria playing.</p><p>The flex and bunch of muscle and veins in Hannibal’s forearms grew more prominent as he bore his weight down into his motions, the whole moment almost obscene in its blatant grotesqueness. It had a certain kind of savage elegance that Will didn’t want to linger on too fully, lest he get lost in it.</p><p>Will watched, the two of them remaining quiet or alternately focused. Only with the sound of the saw biting through the other side, did Will speak again. </p><p>“I don’t know what to feel anymore,” he admitted.</p><p>“Do let me know when you find out,” Hannibal said.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>The table was immaculately set. A small dinner party between just the three of them. It was an intimate affair. The lights low, the fireplace lit, and an elaborate centerpiece of dark red spider chrysanthemums, bone, and ripe pomegranate on the table. Unobtrusive classical music played in the background at a volume that wouldn’t impede any potential conversation. </p><p>Everything seemed an event to Hannibal, though he didn’t need an excuse for one. Whether they wanted it or not, this was happening. It was a milestone in their lives to fully and knowingly be here. Hannibal loved attention, whether it be one person or many. In this case however, Will thought it was more, an exercise in showmanship as much as cruelty to those around him. </p><p>Hannibal was in his element, his facade of pleasant host firmly in place. He and Abel Gideon sat on opposite sides of the table staring at one another in comfortless silence with half-made plates in front of them as Hannibal retrieved their main course from the kitchen. They were prisoners in this shared nightmare together, players in Hannibal’s game. </p><p>Will was hobbled once again, Abel paralyzed from a fall he took and hooked to two different IVs. One, he knew, held painkillers to keep Abel aware and somewhat comfortable. The head of the table was momentarily empty between them, waiting for their host to fill it.</p><p>“Rôti de cuisse. Clay roasted thigh and canoe cut marrow bone.” Hannibal said as he swept in and placed the large platter he carried on the table with a flourish, bringing with it the smell of peppercorns, thyme, and clove. He proceeded to crack open the thin clay crust around the dish with an implement Will had no name for, carefully removing and discarding the broken pieces. </p><p>“I love cooking with clay.” Hannibal enthused warmly, “Creates a more succulent dish and adds a little theatricality to dinner. We come from clay, return to clay.”</p><p>Will looked away, wishing somehow that he still felt sick because Hannibal might still take pity on him, but it had mostly passed. Hannibal was through coddling him. Meat was back on the menu.</p><p>“Shall I cut?” Hannibal addressed his entirely silent guests.</p><p>There was a long pause from the other side of the table and then Abel spoke dryly. “I think you already have.”</p><p>Hannibal practically tsked at this and began to carefully carve flesh away from bone in delicate even strokes. “Your legs are no good to you anymore. You have a T-four fracture of the vertebrae. <em> This </em> is a far more practical use for those limbs.” he admonished. </p><p>Will looked up when thin slices of meat were carefully fanned along the edge of his plate. A section of open bone followed and then Hannibal took his seat. </p><p>Will’s eyes closed briefly and then he reached for his wine glass. He’d need all of the fortifications he could get just to get through the evening. He was disgusted, of course, disgusted with the idea of it and with himself because while he knew just what was in front of him, the truth of the matter was that the smell of it made his mouth water. The revulsion was blunted somewhat along with his other feelings by the drugs Hannibal had given him. </p><p>It’s just meat now, he told himself. Don’t think about it.  </p><p>“You were determined to know the Chesapeake Ripper, Doctor Gideon. Now's your opportunity.” Hannibal said.</p><p>Abel worked his jaw, surveying the table’s contents and the people at it. His chest heaved with a deep breath and he seemed to draw himself up straight in his chair.</p><p>“No wine?” Abel asked, noting the fact that he was the only one doing without. </p><p>He had a glass for it along with his water glass but Hannibal had neglected to fill it. It was just for show, the completion of the table setting so that it would be even and match the others.</p><p>“I’m not sure that would be advisable considering the number of painkillers you are on,” Hannibal said.</p><p>“<em> That... </em> is hardly my biggest health concern, right now,” Abel said.</p><p>“I think you should give it to him. It hardly matters.” Will put in softly.</p><p>“Yes, thank you. The voice of reason.” Abel said, his eyes keenly resettled on him. </p><p>Will tried not to let it bother him, though he wondered just what was going on in Abel’s head. Unlike whatever Hannibal was, Abel was a true sociopath, and perhaps aside from self-preservation, there was no telling where his thoughts would go. </p><p>Hannibal deliberated briefly with pursed lips and tilted his head in acquiescence.</p><p>“I’ll do it,” Will said. </p><p>He braced to stand so that he could get the bottle from the small service cart, but Hannibal’s hand pressed him back, lightly forbidding Will from rising from his seat.</p><p>“No, allow me,” Hannibal said. </p><p>Hannibal, the real Hannibal, threatened to bleed through the overly pleasant demeanor he had affected throughout the majority of the evening. It was most obvious in his eyes, Will thought, a hardening that you might not notice unless you were looking for it. Hannibal’s hand relaxed on him when he settled fully back in his seat, his eyes flicking between the two of them. </p><p>“You don't share very well, do you, Doctor Lecter?" Abel observed as Hannibal approached.</p><p>“Only with those who have earned it, I’m afraid. You make a habit of taking things that are not yours to take." Hannibal said. His words were chastising and not altogether happy. Still, he poured the wine for him.</p><p>“So do you,” Abel said. “In fact,<em> I </em> would dare go so far to say that you have more of a habit of it than I. Case in point...” he lifted a hand to gesture across the table at Will and then addressed him directly. “Aren’t you supposed to be <em> dead </em>? That's what the media’s been saying.”</p><p>“So I’ve been told,” Will said. </p><p>Will thought that Abel would go on and perhaps in other circumstances he would have but as Hannibal returned to take his seat, the focus shifted back to the table and what was expected of them. A collective hush had fallen between them.</p><p>“How does one politely refuse a dish in circumstances such as these?” Abel asked eventually. Awkward.</p><p>“One doesn’t,” Hannibal answered. He looked to Will then, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. A silent polite prompting. </p><p>Will picked up his fork, obediently spearing a small piece of meat on it. His eyes met Hannibal's as he brought the fork up, before traveling to Abel. They were both watching him. One expectant, even eager, the other resigned, but curiously with understanding.</p><p>Will put the meat in his mouth and slowly forced himself to chew. Even knowing that it came from the man across the table from him, it just tasted like meat. Maybe knowing what it was added certain special attention to the nuances of it, the small almost seemingly inconsequential differences, but in the end, it was entirely and unfortunately palatable.</p><p>A brief but thin-lipped smile came to Hannibal's mouth. He looked pleased with him, proud even. It was hard to say how he felt about that, a muddle of emotion.</p><p>Then it was Abel’s turn. He lifted his fork to his mouth, a strained, almost incredulous expression on his features as he ate. He was contemplative, but under Hannibal’s steady eyes, eventually, he murmured.  </p><p>“My compliments to the chef.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>After everything. After dinner and dessert, after coffee and stiff passive-aggressive conversation, and after Hannibal had retired, Will found himself once again back in his room. Yet since it had become ‘<em> his room </em>’, Will was for the first time not alone. </p><p>“Hard to <em> have </em> anything, isn’t it, Mr. Graham?” Abel drawled. He canted his head in Will’s general direction but from the way the exam bed was tilted, they couldn’t see one another easily. “Rare to get it, hard to keep it. Damn slippery life.” </p><p>Will took in a slow breath and sighed heavily. The sound echoed off of the tile in the quiet, sounding weary. Sitting on his bed with his back to the wall, Will tilted his head to examine Abel in profile through the bars and debated the merits of talking to him.</p><p>“I think you can call me Will now. We know each other in ways no one ever should,” he said.</p><p>“Seems a bit one-sided, doesn’t it? You get to eat me. I don’t get to eat any of you.” Abel said.</p><p>“I’m sorry this happened to you, for what that’s worth. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t blame you. You didn’t choose to be here.”</p><p>“Didn’t I?” Will wondered aloud. It was more a question to himself than Gideon, but it ended up as both. </p><p>“No more than I have. Still, right now I can’t help but feel like I got the short end of the stick.”</p><p>“I could have fought harder. I could have resisted.” I could have died, Will thought. “But I’m here, instead, and you’re there.”</p><p>“Don’t fool yourself, neither one of us is leaving this house entirely intact. It’s only the ending that is going to differ.” Abel said.</p><p>“How do you mean?” Will asked.</p><p>“You don’t <em> see </em>it?” Abel asked. He shifted where he lay to look back over his shoulder at Will and only succeeded marginally. “How interesting that you of all people would be blind to such a thing. Our esteemed Doctor Lecter has no plans of letting you slip through his fingers anytime soon.”</p><p>“That’s obvious. I'm in a cage.” Will shot back.</p><p>“You misunderstand. Allow me to enlighten you to our circumstances. I’ve been just a little sour since our last encounter. More that it led to my re-incarceration than the rest, though I wasn’t too happy about the pain either. I thought to myself, I’d like very much to kill him, and you were gracious enough to give me the opportunity…” Abel said.</p><p>“I don’t regret shooting you,” Will Informed him. He didn’t altogether remember the moment he had shot him, just that afterwards he knew Abel had been there to kill Alana and therefore it was justified.</p><p>Abel lifted his free hand and waved it back and forth dismissively. “And I don’t regret wanting to kill you, but circumstances change. The point is, Doctor Lecter put himself between you and me today. He must have sensed it, don’t you think? Your <em> knight </em> in shining armor.”</p><p>“Or you’re just that predictable,” Will said without heat.</p><p>“Do you think it likely he would have done that for anyone else?” Abel countered.</p><p>Will considered it against his better judgment. Considering anything Abel Gideon said too seriously seemed precarious, but it helped break up what had become a lonely and monotonous existence.</p><p>“If it served his purposes,” he said finally.</p><p>“And what purposes would those be?” Abel continued to lead him meandering down whatever path would reach his inevitable point, wanting him to think it through.</p><p>“I think it satisfies something in him to have company that knows who and what he is. I think he must get tired of being alone. He wants an audience to converse and interact with,” Will said.</p><p>“Don’t play coy with me, Mr. Graham. I know you’re not obtuse.” Abel practically sing-songed to him, then continued in a more normal tone. “The only company Hannibal Lecter wants at his table, I’m sorry to say, is you. He’s practically starving for it. I, on the other hand, am just the meat for slaughter.”</p><p>Will pushed himself up from his bed and made his way to the bars, a frown on his lips. What Abel suggested was an unproven and treacherous path at best. Hannibal was hard to read and any misstep on his part might erode whatever favor he had for Will. “I think you might be reading more into it than what’s there. He’s just curious to see what will happen,” he said.</p><p>“As am I.” Abel agreed “Yet... I find myself in the position of wanting to spoil it all for him. I think I should be entitled to some pettiness, don’t you?”</p><p>“Why tell me?”</p><p>“Because we’re in <em> it </em> together. Do I need another reason?”</p><p>“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Will asked. His brow knitted.</p><p>“You sound surprised.”</p><p>“I just find it hard to believe that you’d put everything else aside just because we’re both in the same situation. It seems too simple.”</p><p>“Not the same situation,” Abel corrected. “Just on the same side. All of this is posthumous anyway. It seems a shame not to make the most of it.”</p><p>“You’re not dead, Abel.”</p><p>Abel looked back at him, giving him a tight little smile. He looked so worn down and tired around the eyes. A man who had already seen his fate and accepted the reality of it. There would be no way Abel would be able to make it out of there on his own and in the meantime, Hannibal was carving him out of existence piece by piece. It made sympathy tighten in Will’s chest in response.</p><p>“You shouldn’t give up yet,” Will murmured to him. Because he knew that he should say something, should feel something about it, and he did but not what he thought he ought to. Empty words and even more empty meaning, all just lip service in the name of false comfort. </p><p>“Don’t pity me, Will Graham. I don’t think I could stomach it. You mean something to him, therefore I’d like to take you away from him. He'll be able to get past you if your dead, if you are just out of his reach however, I think that will eat at him. It's about time something did. It’s as simple as that.” Abel said.</p><p>“You take something away from him, he takes something away from you, you take something else away from him. Why should I trust you?” </p><p>“Look at it this way, what do you really have to lose?” Abel said.</p><p>
  <em>What choice do you have? What do you really have to lose?</em>
</p><p>The following day Hannibal took Abel’s right leg.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Hurt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay so, a bit of a potential trigger warning here on this chapter. Chapter five contains content that may bother some people, including psychological torment, claustrophobic descriptions of environment, and some talk of dying. I don't personally think it's all that bad, but it is emotional. You have been warned.</p><p>If you would like an update on where I am in writing the next chapter, please feel free to visit <a href="https://relagorikt.carrd.co/">  my online profile</a>, I keep a progress meter there updated frequently.</p><div class="center">
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    <p>“Drink,” Hannibal instructed him, setting a dainty teacup on the island before him.</p><p>Will looked first at Hannibal and then the pale brown liquid in the cup. When no other details appeared to be forthcoming, he picked the cup up and brought it up to sniff the contents. It smelled like a mixture of things. Citrus certainly, but also earthy with an undercurrent of undefined bitterness. </p><p>“What is it?” he asked dubiously, sure he wasn’t going to like the answer. He had to ask it anyhow as if putting on a brave face made any difference to the outcome. He knew logically it didn’t. </p><p>“Nothing that will hurt you, I promise,” Hannibal said. His hand came to rest briefly on the back of Will’s neck, kneading at the ill-concealed tension he held there, but not lingering overlong. It only bothered Will more that Hannibal’s touch felt good.</p><p>“That’s not an answer.” </p><p>“I’d like to try something different, an alternative to what I’ve been giving you. Frankly, I dislike how lethargic the drugs make you and would prefer to cease giving them to you if at all possible.”</p><p>Will was quiet as he considered the information, though Hannibal had again sidestepped what he’d ask for. He too hated how drowsy and slow the drugs made him. It would make it hard to concentrate and harder to act when needed. He looked up once more to find Hannibal watching him intently, affording him the time he needed to think it through and drink it on his own, the illusion of choice.</p><p>“You don’t have to give me anything.” Will offered up.</p><p>“If it was just you and I, I would agree. Yet such things as these give us an opportunity to accept that which we would otherwise find unacceptable, to evolve past learned constraints and settle into something more. There is no room for pity at my table, Will. Do you understand?”</p><p>“I think I do,” he admitted. “You want to change me.”</p><p>He already had in a sense, his comfort exorbitantly tied to Hannibal’s whims and mood. He had taken over Will’s world, trying to push almost everything and everyone that wasn’t him out of it.</p><p>“On the contrary, I want to set you free.” Hannibal corrected almost tenderly.</p><p>“What’s the difference?” Will asked. He was stalling and he thought Hannibal must know it with the indulgent smile that curved his lips. Or perhaps that was just amusement at his expense. “I’m already exactly what I’m supposed to be.”</p><p>“Yet not everything that you can be. Drink, Will.” Hannibal instructed.</p><p>Will did so, reluctantly, knowing that the time for questions was nearly up. </p><p>Hannibal’s fingers came to rest under the bottom of the cup, tipping it more so. “All of it.” he urged. He took the cup from Will’s hands once it was drained down to the dregs of what was inside and set it aside to be taken care of later. He settled his hands on him, one on his elbow, the other in the small of his back, and guided him to the dining room, placing him in his usual seat across the table from where Abel already sat staring straight ahead. </p><p>The day before they had eaten Abel’s lower leg, today it would be his thigh. Will doubted it likely Abel would last through the next week with the rate Hannibal was working his way through him. It was for this very reason that Will did what little he was allowed to ease him. Small kindnesses after all were better than none. </p><p>Abel watched Hannibal push him in, and then return to the kitchen in silent unconcealed hostility, waiting for him to leave the room before turning his sights on Will. He said nothing as he placed his hand on the table between them as far to the center of the table as he could reach and inclined his head toward the object he had left there, a thin needle, the sort that was used in IVs.</p><p>Will looked up at the short stand that was attached to Abel’s chair and then the man himself, lips parted in questions he could not ask aloud. He quickly reached across to take it when he heard the unmistakable sound of Hannibal’s return, secreting the needle away in the fabric of his suit jacket.  </p><p>Will’s eyes danced over one IV bag, and then the other, furtively looking at the lines. He noticed much to his dismay that the one that held Abel’s painkillers was no longer dripping. If he wasn’t already in a lot of pain, he soon would be. </p><p>“Porcini-braised thigh rosettes with artichoke and fennel” Hannibal stated as he entered the room and set the platter on the table and pulled the lid away.</p><p>“Christ,” Will muttered aloud and had to look away from the carved display, a delicate arrangement of thinly shaved and carefully arranged rosettes amidst a garnish of cranberries. </p><p>Abel’s brow creased slightly as he was served, the faintest sheen of sweat resting there in the dim candlelight. From pain or exasperation, it was too hard to tell. </p><p>Hannibal served Will next, leaning in over his shoulder as he poured wine for him, one hand resting on his shoulder. Will tipped his head back and blinked up at him slowly, struck senseless by familiarity and the odd feeling of whatever was moving through him. </p><p>Hannibal gave him a tight-lipped little smile and leaned down, his pleasure evident in every line of his posture. “I think you’ll like this one,” he murmured low close to his ear and then stepped away, going to attend his own plate, and leaving Will to wonder if he meant the wine, the food, or something else entirely. He turned his attention slowly back to what was in front of him, the overly grand presentation of the food verging on baffling.</p><p>He couldn’t help it, he laughed. It erupted from him soft and sudden. Somewhere between the firelit intimate atmosphere, the sound of sentimental piano, and the unreal situation he just couldn’t manage to hold it in though he lifted a hand to smother it. Abel looked at him as if he had lost his mind, and that just made it more difficult. Abel said something in a low tone he didn’t catch and he had to reel his attention back to the here and now or risk being lost.</p><p>“Psilocybin.” Hannibal grinned, enjoying Will’s apparent amusement.  </p><p>It didn’t take much to know what Abel had asked him. Mushrooms. Hannibal had given him hallucinogenics. Why Hannibal would readily tell Abel but not him remained a mystery.  </p><p>Dinner came and went, followed by dessert and a never empty glass of wine.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“If you would steady him down the steps,” Hannibal said as they began to traverse the basement staircase at the end of the night. </p><p>Hannibal had taken the lead down the stairs to do the brunt of the lifting, and Will followed meekly behind, his senses alight to everything around him. In Hannibal's case, this was less for Abel’s safety than it made for faster work. For Will, it was just kinder to help as every jolt or impact the chair took on its way would add to Abel’s general levels of discomfort, particularly now.</p><p>Will started when Abel’s hand wrapped around his wrist where it gripped the arm of the chair and gave it a firm squeeze. His eyes met Abel’s own intense blue, a question lingering between them. Just as suddenly it was so obvious what Abel wanted him to do in the way he angled his jaw off to the side. Hannibal’s vulnerable, he thought. </p><p>Will’s eyes darted down the sparse narrow stairway that lay behind them and then away, avoidant even as this slim window of opportunity to escape threatened to slip through his fingers once and for all. </p><p>“Will.” Abel breathed his name. It was almost more of a sigh than a word. Will, not Mr. Graham. If he hadn’t been so close he would have missed it entirely and this time when Will looked up at him Abel smiled, an almost boyish sort of expression that would have been charming if he didn’t know better. They only had this between them, didn’t they? Whether it was just pity, complacency, or simple human decency, Will still wasn’t entirely sure. </p><p>He would have killed this man weeks ago if he had been able, but it would have been quick, not this slow drawn out degradation that he was playing party to. He knew logically that the world would be a safer place without Abel Gideon in it. The man was a murderer, he had no misconceptions about that. Even had he not known the details of his crimes, he would have been able to see the rotten core in the center of him and yet it didn’t mean this felt like justification.</p><p>They stared at one another for only a fraction of a second, the time it took to shift down one more stair and no more. </p><p>Don’t pity me, Abel had said. </p><p>That was easier said than done, but what was sympathy without the ability to choose one's end. Abel wanted to escape the end Hannibal intended for him and Will... Will wanted to live by whatever means proved necessary. </p><p>Abel’s smile grew broad and wicked as if he could sense his gathering resolve. This wasn’t a sacrifice or a favor, it was the closest thing Abel would get to revenge. It wasn’t about him at all, but it was a gift he couldn’t ignore.</p><p>It was with this in mind that Will shoved the chair sharply forward and let go. </p><p>The sound of metal coming apart as the chair ricocheted down the stairwell to the landing was still loud in Will’s ear as he reached the kitchen. The sight of it disappearing into the darkness with Hannibal under it fresh in his mind. Were they dead? Were they alive? He didn’t stick around to find out, instead heading directly toward the back entryway that led off of the kitchen to the back yard.</p><p>Will snapped the locks open in two quick turns and yanked the door open, fleeing the warmth of the house out into the winter night. He tripped while moving through the thick drifts of snow, making it to the back of the property, knowing that if Hannibal wasn’t dead, if he didn’t hurry, he might be too late. </p><p>He grabbed the closed bar of the gate and pushed, his stomach turning when it didn’t so much as budge an inch. </p><p>“Pleasepleaseplease… come on.” he hissed in alarm, looking over his shoulder to the still open entryway of the house behind him. </p><p>Will levered his body weight against the bar, Only having a short L shaped length of metal to work with. He strained against its frozen latch, his socked feet wet with slush, toes curling into the mud that rested below. The latch groaned, stuck, and then very slowly rotated in his grasp with a creak, the gate itself moving more from his force than the lock. Fear welled up in him. The image of Hannibal coming for him solidly in his mind, that he was behind him now, just there, silent as ever. Reaching for him.</p><p>“Please!” Will cried out through clenched teeth.</p><p>He was reaching for him now, always reaching for him…</p><p>The bolt gave with a sudden violent snap, sliding forward and gouging Will’s hand. He put his shoulder into the gate and pushed against the accumulation of ice and snow behind it, slipping through it into the semi-dark of the alleyway sideways the moment he was able to do so. </p><p>Will cast a look all around him, the alleyway a nightmare warren of fences, garages, and gates. He wrapped his arms around himself to try to maintain some warmth and stanch the side of his bleeding hand. He briefly looked both ways and headed to the left toward street lights far down in that direction. </p><p>He moved as quickly as he could, each stride he took pulled up frustratingly short. His hands touched the first few doorways he passed, finding each one secured from the inside. It was a good neighborhood and everything was locked down like they expected someone to come and make off with anything not under bolt and key. It figured.</p><p>Will stumbled along the fence-line, breaths coming in white foggy gasps. He took the first right he came to, moving down an adjacent alley and doing his best to keep moving. His toes verged on near numb, the rest of him either shivering or stinging under the weather. The alley broke way to street, and he ducked through someone’s yard, the house’s windows were dark. </p><p>He thought he heard a soft snap from the way he came and ducked back into the shadows by the nearest fence, trying to quietly push himself behind the hedgerow there. His hand came up to cover his mouth, it was all that he could do to stifle his heavy breathing. </p><p>A minute passed, then two, but he didn’t move. Will let himself linger there, waiting and listening for any sign that he wasn’t alone. He was going to freeze if he didn’t get warm soon. He couldn’t stay here forever.</p><p>Though it went against everything his instincts screamed at him he quickly broke cover, crouching and moving along the periphery of the yard until he could make it to the next one over. More dark windows. He beat on darkened doors to no response as he went from house to house. </p><p>On the corner sat an old-style Victorian, the flickering light of the television screen obvious through the windows. Will’s damaged hand gripped the banister of the porch stairs as he mounted them. He could see someone sitting in an old recliner in the near dark, some light from another room illuminated the other end of a hallway. He took one clunky ungraceful step and then another, letting go of the banister to reach for the door. A hand covered his mouth and he was pulled back into a solid body. </p><p>Something sharp pressed into him. Hannibal grappled with him as he began to struggle, his arm encircling Will’s middle and lifting his feet bodily from the ground, dragging him back down the stairs and into the yard. Hannibal held him close and tight, limiting what he could do, muffling him as his limbs grew heavy and his thoughts grew sluggish and the world began to blur away.</p><p>“You’ve hurt me, Will,” Hannibal said. </p><p>The world wavered as he struggled, grasping at the needle in the inner lining of his coat. He jammed it into one of the joints of Hannibal’s hand and he went spilling out onto the ground, trying to gain his feet again to the sound of angry Lithuanian. </p><p>Will panted open-mouthed, staggering along the open icy sidewalk to try to get away. Fatigue flowed into his limbs like he was bleeding out. He made it only a dozen yards or so before he fell, succumbing to the drugs. He wasn’t awake for his return to the house.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Will returned to consciousness on his back and in complete darkness, the ground solid and unforgiving beneath him. Hannibal had never left him in the dark before. He had never left him on the floor. His fingers curled against the floor and found it new. Not the cool concrete of his cell but something entirely different.</p><p>He tried to sit up and immediately smacked his head against something directly above him. He lifted a hand so that he could touch his head and it knocked into the same barrier. He reached up and put his palms flat against it, his breath quickening when he realized it wasn’t just a singular piece leaning over him. His knees hit it, elbows connecting with narrow barriers that went down the sides of him. </p><p>A casket. Hannibal had buried him alive. He was going to suffocate.</p><p>He was suddenly beating and clawing at the smooth wood above him, needing to get through, to get out. He screamed aloud. It was too solid, too heavy. There was no give, no shifting. Weighed down tight under the force of greater mass. Dirt, his mind supplied, feet and feet of it. He scrabbled at the wood above him with his hands, feeling lightheaded. </p><p>The oppressive weight of the tight space pressed down on him, barely enough room to move, no way to change position. His fist smacked against the board atop him, sending dust fragments raining down, his heavy breaths making the scant air moist. He was trapped, so completely hopeless that nothing he did was of any comfort. It didn’t stop the screaming though, if anything, it was nearly the only sound at all. A sound that reverberated in the closed small space all around him. His panic built up just underneath his chin and once he gave into it he couldn’t stop</p><p>His hands and fingers hurt. His throat hurt. His knees hurt. Pain that was a product of his own doing. He screamed until his voice became a strained rasp. Fought until heavy numbness infiltrated his limbs, and his sobbing died away to quiet. He held his bladder until that too he couldn’t anymore and then it was just one more awful experience to heap onto the pile along with everything else.</p><p>Time ceased to have real meaning. There was no day. No night. There were only countless hours of the damp, the painful, and the all-consuming dark. He wondered almost absently if he had ripped some of his fingernails. They stung and ached in a way that made him imagine the worst. He wondered if he was already dead. The differences between his eyes being open or closed were so fractional and pointless that sometimes he was unsure if he was asleep or awake. </p><p>He clutched his hands against his chest, his legs tucked in tight so that they didn’t brush the top or sides of the enclosure, the warmth, and scents of his own body permeated around him. He rubbed his fingers together just to feel something tangible, the pain not quite grounding.</p><p>This was a chrysalis, he thought. A womb. Some small pocket of space where only he existed. The outside world separated and so far away from him that he was able to almost divorce himself from it.</p><p>
  <em> I’m gone now. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m gone. I’m gone. I’m gone. </em>
</p><p>The feeling of it pulled him down. He thought of himself buried deep in the earth in some isolated location, an irregular seed planted by Hannibal’s finely manicured hands. When spring came he wondered what he’d turn into. If anyone would ever find him. Jack? Alana? Would Beverly lay him out on the table and carefully sift through his remnants until she found something small that was left behind?</p><p>“Got ya.” she’d say.</p><p>He wondered if he would bloom and grow. If he would see the sun again. He missed the sun most of all. He pictured it above him, its light winking filtered through tree branches. The stream in the woods behind his house rushed around his waders where he stood almost hip deep, fishing pole in hand. </p><p>He pulled his arm back and gave his pole a flick, sending his lure out in front of him in the direction of the current. It was getting late. Still light out, but it would be going down sooner as opposed to later. </p><p>With that in mind, Will pulled his line in after a few minutes more and trudged his way toward the edge of the bank, collecting what he had caught along the way. He carried them along with a thermos of coffee back through the woods, smiling a little as his house came back into view. The lights inside were already on and it was waiting for him, a ship calling him back once more. He stopped to unbuckle and remove his waders, leaving them slung over the front porch railing so that they could dry out a bit, before pushing his way inside and stopping just in the doorway.</p><p>A half dozen tails started to wag almost in unison.</p><p>A man sat with his back to Will on the carpet in front of the fireplace, working on a half-assembled motor, cigarette set firm between his lips as he strained to work a bolt free. </p><p>“Dad?” Will asked softly.</p><p>The man paused, put down his wrench, and then turned to look at him. A smile came to his heavily sun-weathered features and he reached up to remove the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling smoke, and put it out on a nearby ashtray.</p><p>“Hey, kiddo. Bout time you got back. I thought I was going to have to send out search and rescue you were gone so long.”</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Will asked.</p><p>You aren’t supposed to be here, he thought.</p><p>
  <em> I’m gone. I’m gone. </em>
</p><p>“Got let out early if you can believe that.” his dad said and shook his head like it was the damnedest thing. “I sure hope you caught something good, we’re going to be a bit short on grocery money again this week.”</p><p>Will lifted his stringer of three medium-sized fish a little and gave him a weak close-lipped smile. It didn’t really matter why he was here, did it? It just mattered that he was here with him. That they were together. It was so much more preferable to the alternative. He had spent his time fighting and doing what he was supposed to and he was just so fucking tired. </p><p>“That’s my boy!” His dad praised proudly. “Taught you everything good, I know.”</p><p>“And some of the bad, too.” Will agreed with a laugh. His eyes teared and he looked down with a grimace. “Sorry.”</p><p>“What's with the waterworks, Willy? Did something happen I should know about?”</p><p>Will shook his head at that, not wanting to think about it anymore. Not wanting to think about anything anymore. Never again. “I’m just really happy to see you.” he managed.</p><p>His dad stood, brushing his hands off on his already semi-stained old bluejeans, and approached him. He smelled of motor oil and old spice, just the way Will remembered him. “I’m glad to see you too, Will. Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked like he didn’t believe him  but wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.</p><p>“I’m perfect now,” Will reassured, and this time he really smiled, enough so that his cheeks ached with it. </p><p>“Well, if you’re sure.”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>There was a sound coming from outside, but Will paid it very little mind. He chose instead to turn and follow his Father through the house toward the kitchen. The sound came again, and again, getting louder each time. The house seemed to tremble around him and it gave him pause. It was the sound of things shifting and being moved, thumping.</p><p>
  <em> I’m gone now. I’m gone. </em>
</p><p>“Well, <em>that’s</em> not good.” Abel drawled from behind him, and Will spun to look at him, his eyes wide. He was so out of place standing in the dining room looking up at the ceiling that Will could hardly stand it. Abel had never been in his house before, but then, neither had his father. He hadn’t lived long enough to see it. He hadn’t even seen him graduate or become a police officer, much less teach at Quantico.</p><p>The cold air and light rushed in at him, and Will opened his eyes. He could only squint and shrink back against the wall behind him from reaching hands. Always grasping, always reaching, those hands. The house fell away, never was, the pain and discomfort returning to make him sob outright, his voice a ragged thready croak of a thing as Hannibal grabbed hold  and hoisted him out of the box almost gingerly to lay him on the floor.</p><p>It was the basement again, the box something of a long sturdy trunk, cinder blocks on a tarp nearby. He was here the whole time.</p><p>“You’ve made quite the mess,” Hannibal observed, his expression giving Will nothing. He stood from his crouch and grabbed the edge of the trunk, pulling it several feet away so that he could hose it out near the drain, leaving Will to curl in on himself on the floor.</p><p>“No,” Will whined to himself or at least tried to and began to sob anew. He repeated the word, again and again, wishing or perhaps hoping if he just denied it enough that all of it would go away.</p><p>“Will,” Hannibal called to him, soft and deceptively gentle. </p><p>He recoiled violently when Hannibal’s hand brushed his shoulder and attempted to lodge himself away under one of the tables, but Hannibal caught hold of him, taking him by the ankles and pulling him out like a snared rabbit. </p><p>“Will,” Hannibal repeated, more firm this time, pulling him close despite his state and holding onto him. “It’s alright,” he murmured into his hair, but it wasn’t. Nothing about this was alright. Hannibal hushed him quiet and only loosened his hold when Will stopped trying to get away.</p><p>Will looked at him in small snatched glances for the first time since he had left the house. Hannibal was frowning, bothered. The lines around his eyes looked deeper somehow than usual but then again perhaps it was just the accumulated discomfort and pain from going down the stairs. There was a gash along the bottom of his right cheekbone, held together by a few close stitched sutures, likely put in place by Hannibal’s own hand. Will wanted to drive his fingers between the threads and pull it open, to hurt him, all over again. Maybe later, he thought.</p><p>“Shh. It’s alright.” Hannibal promised, his voice barely above a whisper. He cupped Will’s face in his hands, thumbing at tears that wouldn’t stop coming. His hands dropped down and he deftly began undoing buttons, alleviating Will of mud-stained, sodden clothes piece by piece and casting them into a jumbled pile near the wall to be dealt with later. </p><p>When he was done he took Will’s arm and wrapped it around his neck, hoisted him up from the floor, and made his way up the stairs. Whatever happened to the wheelchair, Will couldn’t say. The only remains of it long scratches from where it had collided along the wall and stairs on its way down. No signs of Abel either, alive or otherwise.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Comfort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you would like an update on where I am in writing the next chapter, please feel free to visit <a href="https://relagorikt.carrd.co/">  my online profile</a>, I keep a progress meter there updated frequently.</p><div class="center">
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    <p>Hannibal carried him in his arms bare through the dim house. They moved through the kitchen and down the long hallway, up to the second floor to rooms he had never seen before. Hannibal paused only to flick on a lamp when they entered the master bedroom and then continued on, leaving the ensuite door open wide and not bothering with the overhead light. He opened the glass partition to the shower and settled Will down onto the tile floor before he stepped back long enough to pull off his shoes and roll up his sleeves.</p><p>Will’s eyes darted over Hannibal in the scant light, cagey but unwilling to further provoke him if he could help it. He pushed himself flush against the back shower wall as far as he could get and slid down until he was sitting. His mind flicked automatically to the last time he had seen Hannibal roll up those sleeves, association built bridges inexorably between the action, food, and bloodshed.</p><p>Hannibal studied him as he very slowly approached, his face a curious mixture of subdued regret and acceptance that Will tried his best not to empathize with. He touched Will’s cheek briefly with just the tips of his fingers as if just making sure that he was there, and then reached up to angle the showerhead away and turned the tap.</p><p>Water rushed cool against the shower wall before quickly warming. Hannibal ran his hand under the spray, testing the temperature against his own skin before tilting it so that the water ran down over Will’s body. </p><p>He crouched at the edge of the shower door, his knees resting just on the lip of it, the thick material of his pants getting damp but he didn’t pay it any mind, the bulk of his attention wholly and fully resting on Will.</p><p>“Come here.” Hannibal entreated him softly with one empty hand. </p><p>He approached Will like he was trying to gentle a stray animal, one he wasn’t certain what it might be capable of. He leaned into the cubicle space, reached with that one hand, and wrapped his fingers around Will’s forearm.</p><p>Will sighed when Hannibal touched him again, posture sagging. There was nowhere left to go and frankly he was tired of trying. When Hannibal pulled him closer, he went willingly, sitting there just in front of him as Hannibal lathered shampoo rhythmically into his hair.</p><p>“What you did last night was both very brave and very stupid,” Hannibal informed him curtly and Will cast a look at him from over his shoulder. Hannibal returned the look, his eyebrows lifting in challenge to anything he might say but when Will said nothing he continued. “I didn’t know if you had it in you to make an attempt on my life at the expense of another. Now I do, and while I have a certain amount of respect for that, it makes me question how much freedom I should give you.”</p><p>Will merely tilted his head away and frowned, Hannibal’s words leaving him feeling absurdly like he was being treated like an unruly child. In truth, he was surprised that he was still alive, much less being treated with such obvious care. Surprised more still by the fact that Hannibal might seem willing to forgive what he had done. </p><p>He closed his eyes and tipped his head back as Hannibal’s fingers began to gently card the soap from his hair, the blessedly hot water running unimpeded against him, washing everything from the last days away. It was so much better than being cold. It felt exorbitantly good, something easily taken for granted on any other day and in any other circumstances turned divine.</p><p>Will considered only briefly before he let himself give in. He leaned back until he came into contact with solidness, and Hannibal’s hands came to rest on him, still gentle, still soapy, but also firm. </p><p>How sick was it? How sick was <em> he </em>, seeking comfort in the same man who had done such unspeakable things to him? Hannibal was familiar. Even if those parts of Hannibal turned out to be all a lie, and he didn’t think that they were, not completely, then perhaps he could be forgiven a lapse in judgment. The whole of the space around Will consisted of him, from the marble tile to the smell of the soap he used. </p><p>He studied Hannibal’s hands, where they now rested lax on his thighs. Water collected there from the spray, it beaded like dew in the delicate hairs on Hannibal’s bare arms and sparked in the indirect light, it accumulated and soaked darker patches into the sleeves of his pale-colored shirt. A shirt Will was undeniably making soggier just by virtue of his actions. </p><p>There was a bruise that ran nearly the full length of the outer side of one of Hannibal’s forearms, disappearing beneath the material of one sleeve. It was already mottled but it would probably turn an ugly purple before too much longer. He wondered how far up it went. How much more was there hidden.</p><p>Will lifted a hand and placed it there, skimming it along the marred skin. He should have been glad he had hurt him, he thought. A part of him wanted to be. He wanted to bite and claw and tear him to pieces, and yet seeing the reality of what he had inflicted left him feeling somehow unsatisfied. He pressed down harder on the second pass, wrist to elbow and back, using his palm more than his fingers because any pressure, even water pressure, stung, </p><p>If it hurt, Hannibal didn’t show it. He didn’t flinch or make any sound about it at all. Instead, he smoothly lifted the arm Will wasn’t touching, grasped his upper arm, and leaned forward. He buried his face against the back of Will’s shoulder and exhaled.</p><p>Will turned his face toward him ever so slightly in question, and then automatically without thought, lifted his hand and reached back to cup the side of Hannibal's face like it was the most natural thing to do in the world. He felt it then, the smallest almost imperceptible tension Hannibal held, felt him stiffen up under Will’s touch in the way he stilled. Unnatural and likely to turn on him in an instant, Will thought, a monster and yet also human supposedly somewhere underneath it all. </p><p>He leaned forward enough that he could turn and look him in the eyes, Hannibal lifting his head to meet his stare. Hannibal’s hand came up to rest over his own then, the tension dissipating.</p><p>“We’re both making choices in this, Will. You do have a choice. I’d like to make the ones we can both endure.” He said.</p><p>“I can’t... I can’t do this, Hannibal.” Will said softly. His voice cracked, a strained small whine of a note in it as it tapered out under the strain of his abuse, barely able to achieve volume enough to speak over the clatter of water. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”</p><p>“Then don’t,” Hannibal said. Perhaps in his mind, it was excusable for Will to do so, morality just a construction of convenience that he played at following. His fingers tensed fractionally on Will’s hand and he turned his face in against it, brushing his lips to the sensitive skin of his wrist before letting go. Not a kiss, not exactly, but it seemed sentimental all the same. Hannibal then pushed up from the floor and shut the water off.</p><p>Will remained where he was, left sitting there watching Hannibal’s obscured silhouette through the frosted shower door as he disrobed on the other side of it and moved into the other room. When he returned it was wearing crimson pajama pants, a fresh towel in tow. The bruise Will had wondered about ran up his arm, mirrored as well by one along his side where he had taken the brunt of the impact. He offered Will one hand, which he took, and allowed himself to be pulled up. He was toweled briefly and then wrapped up only in Hannibal’s oversized robe, before being led to the other room.</p><p>Hannibal folded back sheets and blankets and propped pillows up before guiding Will down onto the bed, pulling the covers back up over his lap. The bedside table lamp was turned on to give him more light.</p><p>“Stay here. Don’t move.” Hannibal warned gently and then left the room. Where would he go, even if he did, Will thought again. What was the point of any of this? He sat there in a daze until Hannibal returned, a glass in one hand, a first aid kit in the other.</p><p>Hannibal drew the vanity chair to the bedside and sat. He sat the kit aside and then lifted the glass to Will’s lips, helping him with it. He continued to keep hold of it even as Will’s hands joined his as if he didn’t know if he could manage it. </p><p>Will drank it all and when he was done settled back into the pillows, making no protest when Hannibal began cleaning the worst of the damage to his fingertips with isopropyl alcohol. Now clean and warm, sleep dogged at him.</p><p>“Did you drug me?” Will asked, mistrustful.</p><p>“Do I need to?” Hannibal responded in kind without looking up. His focus remained unwavering on his task.</p><p>No. The answer was no, but it never left his lips. He thought that Hannibal probably knew as much anyhow because he hadn’t made the effort of hobbling him yet again. Instead, Will watched Hannibal carefully work a few splinters free and wrap bandages around the worst of it. When he was done, the lights were turned out one by one.</p><p>The bed dipped under Hannibal’s weight as he crawled into it and Will closed his eyes. He could feel the heat of Hannibal's breath light against his cheek, the smell of the subtle remnants of his cologne suffused in the bedding and air around him. He fell asleep thinking that both were disgustingly reassuring to him that at least he wasn’t alone.  </p>
<hr/><p>Will opened his eyes to find himself looking into Hannibal’s. There was no confusion about where he was at this point, the familiarity of being in this house had long settled in. What was unfamiliar to him was the particular room he was in and the fact that he had somehow managed to sleep through the night without waking.</p><p>Hannibal was still sleep-worn at the edges, his hair soft against his brow, but it was obvious he had been awake for a while, that he had been considering him. Hannibal’s eyes ran over his face now, searching and vaguely curious. </p><p>Will rolled onto his back to break eye contact and reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes. “God, that’s creepy,” he mumbled.</p><p>“My apologies. “ Hannibal replied. “It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable, Will. It has occurred to me that I’ve never truly been able to commit you to paper. It seems a shame to let such an opportunity pass.”</p><p>Will glanced at him and then pointedly chose to focus on the ceiling. “As if I could stop you.”</p><p>“To the contrary, in this, I would only do so with your tacit agreement. While I have drawn many versions of you since we’ve met, they have never managed to fully encompass the person that I see in front of me.” Hannibal said.</p><p>Will wondered what version of himself Hannibal was alluding to. The one who couldn’t escape him, or the one he had broken down? Or maybe there was some other one entirely. He didn’t care to find out. He didn’t understand why Hannibal wanted his permission either, yet if this was his choice…</p><p>“Then the answer is no.” An automatic response. He didn’t look at Hannibal as he said it, but denying him anything at this point was a small pleasure.</p><p>“It’s good to see you’ve managed to re-acquire some mulishness this morning. Shall we get up and have breakfast?” Hannibal said pleasantly enough. He got up and moved to the closet to retrieve his housecoat instead of properly dressing, leaving the door ajar as he did so. He has to take a shower still, Will realized.</p><p>Will watched him outright until the point Hannibal gave him an inquiring look, his still fugued mental state making it take much longer for him to catch on to things. </p><p>“Sorry.” he managed. It felt frankly ridiculous considering the night before and all of the lines that they had crossed with one another.</p><p>“I’m more concerned than offended,” Hannibal said.</p><p>“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”</p><p>“And I’m sure you do,” Hannibal said, but didn’t press, or at least not yet. </p><p>Will thought it was probably only a matter of time before it came back up, but he was grateful for the reprieve. He was having trouble getting his thoughts together. He still felt weirdly inert and emotionally brittle. </p><p>Will focused his gaze out the window from his spot on the bed while Hannibal moved about the room, only sitting up when the other man came around the bed and offered him a sedate smile.</p><p>He got up when Hannibal prompted him with a soft touch to his shoulder and followed him back out into the hallway. They moved silently a few doors down to a clearly seldom used guest room with a large wooden wardrobe. As empty as the space seemed overall, it bewildered him when Hannibal opened the doors of said wardrobe to find it crammed full of clothes.</p><p>He reached out to touch the rack, sliding some of the suits that hung there along the rail and recognized some of them. </p><p>“These… can’t all be for me,” Will said slowly</p><p>“Can’t they?” Hannibal asked</p><p>“There’s so many…” Too many, he thought. He turned to look at Hannibal in question, and he wasn’t sure whether he was disturbed or flattered. He had been here less than two months, after all, it was a bit much for him. They weren’t all suits, but those alone took up half of the allotted hanging space. </p><p>Hannibal’s eyes drifted from Will to the clothes they were discussing. Was he self-conscious? It was a difficult thing to imagine in relation to Hannibal. He certainly didn’t give anything away if he was.</p><p>“Some of them are new.” Hannibal offered up as if that somehow mitigated the fact that he apparently thought Will needed a full wardrobe despite the fact that he went absolutely nowhere. Will nodded in agreement anyhow. He bought on average only a couple of articles of clothing once or twice a year so they were all considered new to him. It was easier just to not make a thing of it. He automatically went for something comfortable, a sweater and a pair of slacks, and after he dressed they went downstairs.</p>
<hr/><p>Breakfast was always to be a more casual thing it seemed or at least as much as Hannibal ever got. The whole of the kitchen felt warm. The curtains over the sink window drawn back, nearly nonexistent motes swarming in the sunlight that managed to bleed in. Will stared at it, that window, the bright sunlight made to seem brighter as it was reflected off the snow outside. He wondered if it was possible to still see the footprints he had left behind. He didn’t move though, didn’t want to see the reality of his existence outside the house wiped away by fresh snow or wind. Like he hadn’t been out there. Like he had never existed at all. </p><p>Instead, he sat back in the chair, his chair, he supposed. He seemed to be collecting all sorts of places here as time went on, His room, his bed, his shower, his chairs, and now his wardrobe for fuck’s sake. The kitchen was fragrant with the smell of croissants baking, sausage, eggs, and freshly squeezed oranges. </p><p>“Will.”</p><p>He gave a slow blink and did his best to refocus his attention on what was being said. “What?”</p><p>“I asked what you were thinking of so intently,” Hannibal said. He had that frown from the night before again.</p><p>Will ran a hand up through his hair and shook his head. “I’m not sure thinking is the right word for what I’m doing right now,” he admitted.</p><p>“You must be. You are clearly not empty-headed.” </p><p>“No.” Will agreed begrudgingly, though trying to describe it was near impossible. Still, he tried. “Maybe the opposite of that. Too many things. So many that I can’t focus on them all.” he turned his eyes back to the window and left it at that. </p><p>When the food was done, he ate mechanically. He didn’t think on it or properly taste it, but moved on rote memory, quiet and absorbed. If the lack of company bothered Hannibal, he didn’t address it that morning, and afterward, he was led back down to the basement to his room once more. He settled himself on his twin mattress, far less comfortable than the one he had slept on the night before, though it wasn’t by any means the worst mattress he had ever endured.</p><p>The tarp with the cinder blocks on it remained at the far end of the room narrowly within view, but the long trunk was obscured on the other side of one of his cell walls behind a free hanging shower curtain. Better he thought, to not be made to look at it. Worse to know that it existed at all and that he could be very easily reinstated into it if he didn’t play his cards right. He stared at the large bricks and nodded silently when Hannibal excused himself for the day.</p><p>“Here we hath been returned. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig. Or do you think it more in line with a place for everything and everything in its place, as an analogy? ” A voice drawled from the other side of the wall once the door upstairs had been secured. “You were supposed to escape, you know.”</p><p>“Abel?” Will asked in disbelief, quickly getting up from the bed and moving across the small space to the wall in between them. He put his palms flat against it and turned his head so that his ear was angled more in the direction that the voice was coming from. “I didn’t think I’d see you again…”</p><p>“Technically, you’re not seeing me now, are you, Mr. Graham.” It had the lilt of a question but it was rhetorical.</p><p>“Are you hurt?” he decided to ask instead.</p><p>“Better not to ask when the answer is yes. Quite obviously yes.”</p><p>Yet Abel didn’t sound so badly off that he could determine it. He hadn’t largely sounded like he was in pain the entire time he had been here considering the drugs. He sighed and turned away from the wall, putting his back to it and sliding down so that he could lean against it. He imagined somehow that Abel was doing the same, knowing that there wasn’t much back there to speak of aside from the shower, and now the box, as he hadn’t seen Hannibal do anything else with it in between the time he had taken him out of it until now. </p><p>“I’m asking if you’re in pain right now.” Will reiterated.</p><p>“Not anymore, no. I appreciate all the concern but I think I’d prefer to talk about you.”</p><p>“What about me?”</p><p>“What about you, indeed. I can’t say I understand the appeal, no offense, not really my type. But you're sure <em> someone’s </em> type...” Abel said, putting extra emphasis on the t in but so that the sound popped when he said it. For all the fact that Abel so often sounded sardonic when they talked, Will also thought he was serious.</p><p>Will considered all the small touches that Hannibal imparted on him from day to day, more now that Will was at his mercy than before the truth came out. He considered all of the liberties taken recently but he also doubted. While there was so much that he couldn’t deny seemed intimate between them, none of it had felt particularly sexual to him.</p><p>“I see why you would think that, but his background is different from ours. He didn’t grow up here so he may feel different from the majority about what is casual and what isn’t. It could just as easily be familiarity or his need for control, and I’m not convinced that I want to see what will happen if I misread the situation and offend him.” Will shot back.</p><p>“You pushed him down a flight of stairs. If that isn’t already offensive, I don’t know what would be.” Abel said. “Yet here you sit, undamaged. Well, more or less.”</p><p>“You have no idea.”</p><p>“I know you’re supposed to have an empathy disorder and all but let's refrain from talking about our feelings,” Abel said.</p><p>To this Will smiled. “God forbid.” </p><p>“God has nothing to do with it. Trust me, me on this, I’ve seen evil. The devil however is upstairs right now, tromping around, primping his hair and who knows what else.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> are evil” Will corrected. </p><p>“Semantics,” Abel said.</p><p>“What was your point exactly?”</p><p>“The point is that unlike the rest of us, you are in the rather unique position of being his weakness. Just think about that fact long and hard and draw your own conclusions.”</p><p>“What conclusions are you hoping I’ll end up at?” Will probed. He was curious and though he wasn’t about to trust Abel without applying careful thought to it, he was willing to listen to ideas. </p><p>“He's the Devil, Mr. Graham. There is no escaping the Chesapeake Ripper once you're in his sights. He won't let you go and he won't be caught. If you want an end to this you’re going to have to kill him.”Abel said.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Interlude: One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my first time ever writing from this POV directly so it was a bit hard on me. It took a while but with persistence, I managed to get through it. Please enjoy.</p><p>edit: I woke up the morning after posting to multiple comments. You guys are so good to me. &lt;3</p><p>If you would like an update on where I am in writing the next chapter, please feel free to visit <a href="https://relagorikt.carrd.co/">  my online profile</a>, I keep a progress meter there updated frequently.</p><div class="center">
  <p>✦══✦══✦</p>
</div></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sounds and scents of morning, even a cold morning such as this, had a certain kind of peacefulness absent from the rest of the day, Hannibal thought. In the clear gentle sunlight that managed to come in through the windows, he began pulling things from the refrigerator and cabinets, setting ingredients neatly along his work surface, and laying out pans. He contended with rolling and folding dough into thin layers until he was satisfied with it, and then carefully cut it into triangles and shaped them into small perfect rolls. He added just a bit of butter brushed on top before delivering his croissants into the oven and casting a glance toward the far side of the room where Will sat silent and devoid of expression, staring, just staring at something only he could see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked like a doll, sitting there so still and vacant-eyed, but Hannibal knew the sorts of things that resided in his mind. Inside Will, there lived a complex and endless well of connection and understanding that threatened to overrun the brim at any disturbance. The potential for great darkness and kindness in all its many layers and flavors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was he expected to do when confronted with this clever beautiful boy? A lesser mind would have and obviously often had taken him for granted, unable to appreciate what was in front of them. He wouldn’t make that mistake, and yet he had made a misstep in letting him interact with Abel so freely. More structure was needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He longed to further make ripples in that well, to coax him free of all of those self-imposed bindings that Will placed upon himself. Morals and ideals instilled upon him by the hands of other people rather than what he wanted. Freedom, true freedom, however, was rarely without its pains. Growing tended to hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking about so intently?” Hannibal ventured curiously as he continued to work. “Will?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal’s lips pressed together in a firm thin line of displeasure when Will didn’t react to the sound of his voice. Lost in a world of his own making… a place Hannibal could not follow without it being on Will’s terms, and certainly not in any way he could himself experience, though the thought of doing so made him greedy with yearning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will.” Hannibal tried again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will’s eyes closed briefly in a long drawn-out blink and then fluttered open, his head turning so that he could look at Hannibal. He was ethereal, Hannibal thought, such a shame to keep him shut inside. “What?” Will murmured in return. His voice was truly a regrettable mess, but it would heal given a little time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked what you were thinking of so intently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure thinking is the right word for what I’m doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must be. You are clearly not empty-headed.” Hannibal commented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Will admitted. There was an overlong pause, Will’s eyes tracking back and forth as he processed, and just when Hannibal thought he wouldn’t speak again Will did. “Maybe the opposite of that… too many things. So many things that I can’t focus on them all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will’s eyes lit on him only briefly, and by the time he had finished speaking, they were already gazing at the window once more. He drew in a long breath through parted lips and then seemed to sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal thought he could feel the distance growing between them, thought he sensed it like a physical separation and he hated it. Like a doll, he thought again, and while Will was certainly pleasing to look at, it wasn't enough for Hannibal to merely possess him in form, it was his mind that held his interest. Letting Will slip away from him, would not do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Better to slit his throat and let him bleed than watch him deteriorate, an act of mercy rather than cruelty. At least in consuming him, he would be able to keep some part of Will as he was. He’d rather it not come to that, but it was one possibility among many. There were still flickers of Will present. Hannibal just needed to find something to get his attention, some way to make him want to stay present.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He considered it as he finished preparing their meal and sat them down to eat, only speaking when he had to prompt Will to remember to take his pills. Hannibal watched Will off and on throughout it all, his mood distracting from any of the pleasure he would have normally expected from the act of doing so.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><br/>
<span>It was around five, soon after his last patient left when Hannibal received the text to come to Quantico. He finished what few lines of notes he was working on before filing them away and closing up the office for the day. A good hour and a half drive later, he flashed his consultant’s ID at the gate, and parked a bit back from the front, making his way upstairs and through the checkpoint inside.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the elevator he prepared himself for whatever would come, closed his eyes briefly, and let himself be settled. The soft ding as the doors opened prompted him forward once more. The door to the office was open but they were not as alone as he might have preferred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack… I was not aware a group meeting was what you had in mind, not that I am in any way against the presence of Ms. Bloom,” he said at the doorway, he turned his gaze from one to the other. “Hello, Alana.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Hannibal.” She said in return. Her pleasure at seeing him was remarkably less reserved, but then, she always had been more emotional. “How have you been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As well as can be expected,” he replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal let his eyes flit over the board near the far wall as he entered the room, the pictures of Will’s house now replaced by an unfamiliar crime scene. The pictures he wanted, he found sitting in a pile on a woefully sad little file cabinet. He picked them up and ran through them one at a time, looking at his own handiwork critically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Circumstances being what they are is exactly why I’ve called you here,” Jack said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal heard Jack move rather than seeing it, tracking his movements by the sound of each step and shuffle of items.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But not about Will” Hannibal commented quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have more questions than answers on the Ripper’s motivations. As much as I would prefer not to, we need to move forward. The case for Will hasn’t been closed and it won’t be until we come to some formal resolution, but I think it’s time that we face the facts. It’ll be two months soon, Will is gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And life just goes on? I think the word you mean is dead, Jack. Alluding to it but not saying it, does nothing for Will but disservice.” Hannibal said in return, playing out the grieving friend he was supposed to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any anger is better spent on the cases we do have something to work with, it’s what Will would want,” Jack said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did Jack know Will at all? Hannibal thought of Will, his assertions that the FBI, that Jack, would look for him, would find him. Will’s trust was misplaced in a man who was now telling him that Will would want them to focus on solving the cases that they could as if the far-reaching good was more worthwhile than those they saved. His poor hopeful Will was waiting for nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was relieved, in a way. It meant that it would be less likely anything might be uncovered. They would move past the loss of him. They would speak of him less and less and before too long the gaping wound Will left in between them would close. At any other time, he would have reveled in playing with the FBI, but at the moment he had more important things on his mind. Yet despite this being the case, Hannibal found that the smallest amount of indignant irritation coiled through him on Will’s behalf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They do not deserve him, he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They never had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided to allow the feeling rather than control it, to feed fuel to the fire and let it burn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The question of what Will might or mightn’t want has long been a subject of neglect, don’t you think, Jack? Particularly when you know as well as I do, that he never wanted any of this. I’d very much prefer it if you wouldn’t speak for him when he isn’t here to speak for himself.” Hannibal turned to look at Jack and waved the photos in his hand for emphasis on the subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you saying, exactly?” Jack asked, and then he was striding toward him, facing him. his voice had become tense with the beginnings of anger. Jack was raising his volume, trying to intimidate. “-Because it’s starting to sound like you’re trying to blame me for this.” Jack finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal had heard it before, though it had never been directed at him. His eyes narrowed in reaction to that anger. He was not impressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do blame you,” Hannibal informed him simply, the volume of his words remaining just the same. It was tantamount to pressing into the pain if Jack’s expression was anything to go by. “You were supposed to protect him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were supposed to watch him.” Jack countered. “If you’re blaming me, then blame yourself as well. We both failed him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me when I say that I do. It is not exclusive. However, I am not the one who put him out there. It’s unlikely he would have ever drawn such attention had he been left to teaching.” Hannibal replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And making that choice is something I live with every day,” Jack said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal wondered if feeling guilty would ever be enough payment for Jack’s transgressions. In the end that would be up to Will, he supposed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal opened his mouth to say more but a hand on his arm gave him pause. He looked down to find it to be Alana’s, a silent warning where none was needed or wanted. Her eyes begged him to stop, to not make things worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgive me, Jack. I know deep down that you are doing as much as you can, but I find that I cannot help you as I am right now. It is simply too much. I haven’t allowed myself time to properly grieve as I should, and it appears that it is now getting the best of my temper.” Hannibal said instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack stared at him for a long silent handful of seconds, then looked away and nodded, accepting that explanation and for the moment letting go of his anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d wanted to get your opinion on the case we’re working, but I understand the situation has left you feeling compromised. Maybe it’s best if you take a short sabbatical. To get your head back on straight.” Jack offered. He leaned back against the corner of his desk, as he spoke, both looking and sounding somewhat regretful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just thinking the same thing,” Hannibal admitted. “In so much as I can, at least. My patients do rely on me, but a few days away and then a lighter work schedule should be permissible under the circumstances. I’m sure they will understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would give him more valuable time with Will. As much as he valued his other commitments, he found them far less satisfying and worthwhile for the time being, and Will being in the basement did nothing to improve upon their situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack nodded once more and then moved around his desk to the chair. “Then we’ll talk later. I’ll call you if there is any news.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’d appreciate that.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hannibal had barely made it down the hall and pressed the elevator button before Alana caught up with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.” were the first words that came out of her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only she knew how wrong she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guilt is often illogical. He is my friend, Alana. It goes without saying that I feel like I should have been able to do more for him. I wanted to. I still want to.” Hannibal replied quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alana favored him with a sympathetic look and then leaned in against him ever so slightly as she turned and faced the elevator, to watch the lights as the car moved upward. When she reached up to rest her hand at the crook of his arm, he accommodated her, both of them smiling faintly though likely for very different reasons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you join me for coffee?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Hannibal replied with a single bob of the head but amended after a moment. “But only if you’ll let me provide it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alana chortled weakly. “You just don’t want to drink free cafeteria coffee.” She said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been seen through. You’ve caught me.” Hannibal murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve just known you long enough to know better. Face it, you’re getting predictable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile threatened to grow at this, but he quickly quashed the expression into something more subdued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think so? I’ve found that comfort is quite predictable just by its nature.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truly he would have preferred not to, but to decline would just invite more worry at a time and place that would not be of his choosing. Assuaging Alana’s worry often required a delicate balance of reassurance and perceived communication. As good as she was at her job, she sometimes lacked the ability to properly distance herself, even when those who she worried about did not particularly want such attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put his free hand up to hold the door when it opened, waiting for Alana to get settled inside the elevator before he joined her. She pressed the button for ground level and they stood side by side as they descended. He made a repeat performance with the door when it opened, but held it for the few additional people who wanted to board before catching up to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cafeteria was a small food court, and though it was managed by one staff, they offered some additional fare by way of franchising rights. One of these was for Starbucks, and while he far preferred what he had at home, at least it would be endurable, overroasted travesty that it was. Such things were not always a blessing, but they were nothing else if not consistent in quality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to your face?” Alana asked without preamble once they sat down. Her hand came up just short of touching. He could tell that she wanted to, but knew better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a bit of carelessness on my part. It’s hardly anything at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like you to be that careless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been very distracted lately, Alana.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you tell me what happened?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would rather not, lest you see me in an entirely different light. There are some things too embarrassing to bear repeating. It’s fine, hardly anything at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look she gave him spoke of a great many things. There were misplaced understanding and compassion tempered along with whatever feelings their friendship entailed. There was even the smallest amount of gentle amusement over his refusal to speak of what happened. It only made her more fond of him, the flaw and perceived embarrassment making him more human… more relatable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because of everything?” Alana asked. Because of Will, she didn’t say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand came to rest atop his, more on his wrist than anything. She was trying to comfort him. He looked down at it briefly and then after a moment's decision, turned his own over to meet hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In other circumstances, in some other lifetime, he would have been tempted to make use of that connection to better camouflage himself but to do so now meant having her in his home frequently. Hannibal held a certain affection for Alana and harbored her no ill will. He enjoyed her company well enough, but these were hardly what he would have termed romantic feelings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll get easier. I know that it doesn’t seem like it right now, but it’ll happen.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sound far more certain than I feel, I’m afraid,” Hannibal said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think of him often,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are some days lately, it feels like Will Graham is all I think about."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pained expression crossed her face at that. She squeezed his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there anything that I can do to help?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Thank you for your concern.” Hannibal said, but then paused and really considered the offer. “Actually... there is one favor I might ask if you’re amenable. I think it would help me a great deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask.” She prompted.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Intentions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter ran a little longer than I imagined, and I ended up cutting a scene from the end to include in the next one so that you guys wouldn't have to wait any longer. Hannibal's feelings are difficult to navigate. Anyhow, please enjoy.</p><p>If you would like an update on where I am in writing the next chapter, please feel free to visit <a href="https://relagorikt.carrd.co/">  my online profile</a>, I keep a progress meter there updated frequently.</p><div class="center">
  <p>✦══✦══✦</p>
</div></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was late by the time Hannibal got home. Even without a clock to see the time, Will knew that much. He could sense it, feel the elapse of time somehow, or at least he thought he could. It was like a physical pressure on his person. He had spent the many hours since returning to the basement alternating between sleeping and deep thought. Thoughts about his situation, about what Hannibal had done to him, Abel’s words, and about just how far he might be willing to go to see things through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would he be willing to do anything it took for his freedom? Would he be willing to lie or pretend? Would he be willing to kill? At what point was the line of too much, too far?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only remarkable that he was still here, still whole, relatively speaking, but he knew he couldn’t afford another mishap like what had happened the night of his unsuccessful escape. Even Hannibal had his limits. They both did. Still, it gave some credence to Abel’s words. To the fact that Hannibal was willing to give him far more consideration than he would have had anyone else done such a thing to him. Just what were the depths of Hannibal Lecter’s feelings exactly? It gave him something to focus on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled over to look at Hannibal, and then slowly pushed himself upright and smoothed his hair with a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What time is it?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nine. I apologize for the delay, I imagine you’re quite famished by now. It took longer than I imagined to finish my errands. I’ve taken the liberty of picking something up for you to eat“ Hannibal said.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will arched an eyebrow at that. That was a first. “I didn’t think you ate things you didn’t make,” he said, somehow having thought Hannibal would have found such things not up to par.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal smiled faintly. “Only very rarely. Come, let's get you upstairs and fed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will pushed up from his bed and made his way to the door to be let out. He showered and redressed quickly, and once hobbled again, was led up the stairs and into the dining room where food sat already laid out. Despite this supposedly being taken out, Hannibal had arranged the food, a simple lasagna and salad with bread, on plates, no take away boxes or plasticware in sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose eating out of cartons would be too much to imagine,” he said, taking his usual seat. “Do you find things like that distasteful?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Certainly not preferable,” Hannibal replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wine was poured and then Hannibal also took his seat, silently regarding Will until after he picked up his fork and took his first bite, before taking up his own and also beginning to eat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As of tomorrow, I plan to stay home for a few days,” Hannibal informed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will glanced at him but didn’t comment, but he speculated as to what that meant for him, when even on the days Hannibal didn’t usually work, there were still things he needed and wanted to do. He frowned, a part of him jealous of the thought of going outside, going anywhere really. He pushed his food around on his plate, appetite flagging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This displeases you?” Hannibal asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He carefully placed his fork down, avoiding eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t been saying much of anything. Do you despise me so much, Will?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will did look at him then, starting to shake his head, to deny even before thinking it. Did he hate him? He licked his lips to moisten them before speaking, and Hannibal’s gaze dipped to follow the movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said then. “No, I don’t hate you, Hannibal. I think that… I should, but I don’t. Our relationship isn’t as simple as that.” It never had been. It never would be. Nothing in Hannibal’s orbit could ever justify itself to be anything other than complex, he didn’t think Hannibal would have stood for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will picked up his wine glass, and sipped at it, trying to stall a moment while he gathered himself. The worst part about it was that it was true, he didn’t hate Hannibal. He wasn’t sure that he could, though there were certainly things to dislike about him. There were things to find charming also, things to find funny or interesting, even things to love. That is, if any of it were real, and not just part of some elaborate mask, anyhow. He needed to find out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided to be honest. Hannibal seemed to respond best to that in times like these.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just… It makes me uneasy, not knowing what’s going on.” he tried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shift in Hannibal was damned near palpable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that not what I was doing? Explaining?” Hannibal asked. He looked thoughtful as if he was mentally working the issue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were telling me what was going to happen, but not why. Never why.” Will said, exasperation and anxiousness making laughter color his tone. “There’s no context and that…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unsettles you.” Hannibal finished for him. He nodded. “Your perceived lack of agency and control over the situation, of your own person, is left to react to whatever you assume my design to be and because you do not know why plainly, the worst threatens to creep into your mind, no doubt a flame fanned by the experiences of the many men that you have let into your mind. But, Will, you are not my victim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what am I?” Will asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re my friend,” Hannibal said. He said it so softly, so kindly, that it was almost a whisper and Will found he could only stare at him. It was what Hannibal had been telling him all along and while Hannibal had alluded to violence if he didn’t comply with what he asked of him, it was apparently a sentiment that remained. He had never truly taken it at face value. Maybe he should, he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took another drink of wine, more than just a sip, but he needed the alcohol. Hannibal accommodated him by refilling the near-empty glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like a victim. The box-” Will started, but Hannibal was answering him before he could even finish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was something that I regret and shouldn’t have exposed you to for such a length of time. It was a punishment. You hurt me. I was angry.” came Hannibal's emphatic reply. But Will thought that he was still angry about it even now, it was just that enough time had elapsed that that anger no longer clouded any judgments that he might have, and that was good. Better than good really, because it meant that he could be reasoned with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence stretched out from between them, broken only by the soft crackles and pops of the fireplace and Will went back to sipping his wine. Neither one of them continued to eat. Instead, Hannibal was watching him rather blatantly, and Will did his damnedest to pretend that wasn’t the case even though he could see him doing it out of his peripheral vision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you do it again?” Will asked eventually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would not want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I felt it was warranted, yes. The alternatives would be far less pleasant.” Hannibal said, and now he sounded piqued, his words clipped and temperament threatening to grow frosty if they pursued this topic past a certain point. Hannibal didn’t want to talk about it, Will realized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will was tempted to push Hannibal further, to see what would happen, but he couldn’t risk it. Not when Hannibal was trying to mend things between them, and not when he had so very much to lose in the process, so instead he nodded his acceptance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just so I know where we stand,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eat your dinner, Will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will repressed a smile at that, for no other reason than that he vaguely enjoyed the put upon tone Hannibal had. He wasn’t angry now, just annoyed. Will picked up his fork and did as he was told. Afterward, when he had managed to drink most of the second glass of wine and empty his plate, he helped clear the table of dishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was after they filled the sink with their dishes that Hannibal turned to him and offered him a paper bag that had no branding or any indication of what might lay inside. When he opened it, he was more confused rather than less, for what lay inside was nothing more than a short thick length of rope. It was seemingly good quality rope, but rope all the same. He blinked a few times, uncertain as to what to say. It was obvious that Hannibal was waiting for some kind of response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand,” Will said eventually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then allow me to show you,” Hannibal said. He guided Will from the kitchen with one hand solicitously, opening the door that led into the hall and down it to the living room. The double doors were shut and that was so unusual that it made him pause, looking to Hannibal with sudden wariness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, Will,” Hannibal reassured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the door, Hannibal continued. “You said, kindness and cruelty in equal measure, I believe. I’ve given you something that you would consider cruel, so it’s time for kindness don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will wondered what last night was if not a kindness. Hannibal probably thought of the box as a kindness if his words were anything to make a judgment off of. If it could have been so much worse than that…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Will said. “Now if I can just figure out how to only stay on the kind side, I think we’ll both be better off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal’s lips quirked, but he gestured at the door, in no way going to make it any easier on him by opening it, So Will gripped the bag in one hand and reached to turn the knob. There was the clacking sound of nails on expensive tile and an excited whine as the door opened, and Will closed his eyes when he could see what was inside, or rather who.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will gave a single soft bark of laughter and sunk onto his knees on the floor, Winston meeting him there with snuffles and doggie kisses. “Hey. I missed you too, boy.” he managed, dropping the bag beside him and ruffling up the thick fur around Winston’s neck with his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are ground rules, Will,” Hannibal said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured as much,” Will said. His hands slowed in their petting as he listened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aside from taking him out, or anything else that would require him to leave the house, you are responsible for his care. Secondly, if he bites or attacks me for any reason, he’s gone. If you use him to attack me, I will not excuse it, for either him nor you. Am I making myself absolutely clear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crystal,” Will said, looking up at Hannibal. “He’s… not really a biter, anyway. I don’t think he would unless he was trying to protect me. I’m going to ask for some things in return…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think that’s wise? This is not a compromise, Will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will huffed. “I don’t know, but I’m going to do it anyway. You might say no, but you also might say yes and that makes it worth asking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll ask for him, but not yourself…” Hannibal stated and shook his head as if that disappointed him. Will took note of that, tucking the information away for later consideration. Hannibal gestured at him with one hand to continue. “Please, go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At home, I always made their food from scratch. It’s better for them. If you’d let me, I’d rather do that than feed him something out of a bag.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that can be accommodated. I’ll have you make a list. What else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to feed him things,” Will said, and he figured that this might be when some kind of offense was taken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By things, I assume you mean people,” Hannibal said. Will nodded, but rather than address it, Hannibal moved on. “What else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will hesitated but did so. He tried to frame his words in a way that might be received well. “As I said, he might try to bite if he thought that he needed to protect me, so I’d ask that we avoid doing anything that would cause that to happen,” he said, making sure to add himself into that request so that it didn’t sound accusatory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That will depend heavily on you, Will. On how you choose to act going forward.” Hannibal said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t run again. I’ll behave.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have to pardon me for my skepticism, but you’ve already broken that promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Things have changed,” Will said. Hannibal didn’t disagree with him, he just waited, politely silent for him to continue. “The experience changed things in me, and I have more to lose now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you still afraid, Will?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and chewed on it, returning his gaze to Winston as he went back to petting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure that I can easily answer that question. I would say yes, and there are times when that seems more the case, but it’s outweighed by a mixture of other feelings.” Will said. He tipped his face up to look at Hannibal again. “Everything you do, it’s so awful... and so very beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it?” Hannibal asked, and Will could tell that he had him intrigued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will shook his head, expression turning wry. “I don’t think you need me to tell you that. There are probably more than enough people out there fully willing and able to stroke your ego.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But not while knowing everything that you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, maybe not, though I think they’d be impressed even if not in the way you’d prefer,” Will said. He couldn’t help but notice the way Hannibal’s eyes glittered in the light coming from the living room, or the deepening of his smile. He looked pleased, even happy, Will thought.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Hannibal’s buoyant mood continued into the next morning. Will watched him from his usual seat in the corner of the kitchen as Hannibal surveyed the refrigerator's contents and then began pulling foods and implements down and laying them out on the island for use. Gone was the frown Hannibal had favored while looking at him since the incident, replaced by an overall pleasant satisfied air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will wasn’t altogether certain as to just what he had said or done to please Hannibal so thoroughly, but he had his suspicions. He stroked Winston’s fur, enjoying the simple comfort of doing so as he considered his options going forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal had always been a little hard for him to read. He could pick up some things while others, notably how he was likely to escalate, remained more obscure. There were things that surprised him about Hannibal. When Hannibal had caught him that night out in the snow, for instance, he had known that Hannibal was blindingly angry. Hannibal had wanted to kill him while in the throes of that rage, and he had rightly thought that when Hannibal got hold of him that he was going to die, but that wasn’t what happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere in between that moment and when he had woken up, Hannibal had decided on an alternative path. He had regained control of himself relatively speaking. It was that control that Will now found impressive to contemplate. That Hannibal had been able to think so clearly and put a harness on that amount of rage spoke volumes about just who he was dealing with. He had seen the things that the Chesapeake Ripper was capable of and now wondered if those instances were similar. After all, the tableau that Hannibal had left behind while violent and often sadistic, spoke of a man who was not driven by circumstance but intention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal Lecter wanted him here with him, alive. It was not for entertainment or cruelty's sake that he did so, that much was certain. The sizzle of meat in the skillet pulled him from these musings. It was time to test Abel’s theory, he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be okay with a dog in your house,” Will said</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal glanced up at him, attentive but also keeping an eye on his work. “Because of the sort of home I keep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re fussy,” Will said, averting his eyes briefly and grimacing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would it shock you to know that I’ve had dogs before?” Hannibal asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My family had two dogs when I was a boy. Hunting dogs. We also had a horse.” Hannibal said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can imagine you on a horse,” Will admitted, and Hannibal smiled tight-lipped, amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s far less glamorous than what you are likely imagining, but yes, I can ride a horse. We used him to plow and pull the cart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not for hunting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal pursed his lips, his expression changing so fractionally that Will might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching him so closely. “I used him for hunting on one occasion, but no,” Hannibal said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will got the feeling that Hannibal didn’t mean it in the same way he had. Something was unpleasant there in that memory and Will decided not to pursue it to avoid ruining the mood he was trying to cultivate. “But you had hunting dogs…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bird dogs.” Hannibal clarified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will gave Winston a final pat and then pushed himself up from his chair. He slowly made his way across the kitchen, rounded the island to where Hannibal stood cooking, and placed his hand on the small of Hannibal’s back, leaning in close to watch him work. Everything was deliberate, from his posture to the way he looked at the food, rather than at Hannibal. He was aware that Hannibal had turned his head to look at him, and while the muscles in Hannibal’s back were not tense under Will’s hand, he had stilled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will allowed himself to pause as well, letting a few seconds pass by before looking up at Hannibal and arching an eyebrow in question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal’s attention turned back to the pan in front of him, and while there was no real outward expression of it, Will knew that he was wary of this new development. Will had rarely if ever initiated physical contact between them. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who had taken something away from that night on the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Will, did you need something?” Hannibal asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a difficult proposition. So much of what needs to be done requires a knife.” That Hannibal didn’t trust Will with a knife didn’t need to be spoken between them, so he didn’t try to argue the point. The knife block was always kept just near Hannibal. Had he wanted to try to go for a knife, he doubted he’d be able to get it free of the block quickly enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could let me do the parts that don’t require one. I’m bored, Hannibal. I’m used to being outside, to working on things. All of this sitting around, doing nothing, makes me stir crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we can’t have that,” Hannibal said. He offered Will the handle of the spatula he was holding. “Stir this for me just a moment. Watch it carefully.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will did so, glancing at Hannibal as he moved to pull another cutting board out and set it on the island. He then took several oranges and grapefruit out of a basket and cut them in half. When he was done, he retrieved a wide-mouth pitcher, a sieve, and a hand juicer, leaving them on the island next to the cut fruit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you would be kind enough to take care of those,” Hannibal said, taking charge of the skillet once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will stepped over to the sink and washed his hands thoroughly, then set about his task. As much as asking to help was a way to begin testing the bounds of what Hannibal would allow, he was grateful to be doing something, no matter how easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re smiling,” Hannibal commented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am.” he agreed, holding back so that Hannibal would have to fill the space he left with words himself. He didn’t disappoint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Had I known that you’d take such pleasure from pressing juice, I would have let you do so sooner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you? I didn’t think my pleasure had any bearing on what you did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t my intention to make you miserable, Will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe not, but it is your intention to make sure that you are the only stimulation that I get so that when you show up, I’m so starved for any sort of interaction that I am more likely to do what you want,” Will said plainly. He gave Hannibal an arch look. “Isn’t that right?” And Hannibal looked pleased all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His expression reminded Will of the first time they had met, side by side in the visitor chairs of Jack’s office. Hannibal had looked at him then just like this, and it had been so blatantly obvious that he was delighted by Will’s disdainful words. At the time he had found it off-putting, now he reveled in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like that I see so much, that I see what you’re doing. You want me to see you. You’d like me to see more. Much more.” Will continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how does that make you feel?” Hannibal queried, but the question had a playful tone to it. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t try to psychoanalyze anything Will might say, but that they had a connection between them. This was banter, not an interrogation.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will rolled his eyes at the question. “Well, you aren’t denying it. Not that it would do any good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would it have put your mind at ease if I had, or would it have only made things worse? I would rather not have to lie to you now that we’ve advanced past the need for subterfuge.” Hannibal said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it wouldn’t have helped. All it would have done is let me know that you were alright with lying.” Will said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I said that I never lied?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would say that you just did,” Will said. He had juiced most of the fruit now and there was a fair bit of pulp sitting in the sieve. He turned toward the counter, hand lifted as he tried to recall which drawer the larger spoons were kept in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal seemed to intuit what he was looking for because he said “Third drawer on your right.” and when Will opened it, they were in there along with some of the other serving utensils. He opened all of the drawers on that row briefly just to sate his curiosity and found them to be similar.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever actually used all of this stuff?” Will asked, returning to his task.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Many times. Why do you ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just… it seems like a lot,” he said, shaking his head as he pressed the juice from the loose pulp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal grinned briefly, a laugh in his voice when he asked. “Do you not approve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of your kitchen habits?” Will asked in return. Immediately he was thinking not just of the unreasonable amount of pans and utensils Hannibal owned, but the things that he had in his basement freezer and larder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure what might have shown on his face because when he looked up again, it was to find Hannibal watching him with a guarded indifference with any mirth he might have had previously hidden. He was pulling away, Will realized, in expectation of Will’s condemnation and disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will looked down into the sieve and pushed the spoon down into it, trying to get more liquid out of it when there was no more to be had. He considered the topic before speaking and when he did, it was with care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do you do it?" Will asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do you ask?" Hannibal replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you already?” Hannibal asked, and this time Will frowned because Hannibal’s short clipped answers failed to do anything other than turn the conversation back on him, not really answering anything. Irritation tried to rear up in him, but he tamped it down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will took in a long deep breath and allowed his eyes to close briefly. When he opened them, he put the spoon on the countertop and looked at him. Instead of meeting his gaze, Hannibal had busied himself by turning off the stovetop and arranging their plates. “I want to understand,” he said again, keeping his voice gentle. “I know what the books tell me. I could list off all of the reasons why other people do it, but those things don’t apply to you. They never have. You’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that supposed to be complimentary?” Hannibal asked. He didn’t seem impressed or well, much of anything. His tone would be best described as bland.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hannibal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal turned that expression on Will, his eyebrows lifting in mild inquiry at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Will said. “I’m trying. Just… meet me halfway. I need to understand. I want to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal looked down at the plates he was working on and then inclined his head ever so slightly toward him, agreeing but giving nothing more for the moment.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Generosity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Finally done with Chapter 9. I've been super tired lately. I sort of feel like I'm in a mental fog most of the time and I'm not sure If it's related to being vaccinated or if I'm just really this tired. Needless to say, it is making writing really hard for me, and I hope it clears up soon.</p><p>Bit of a warning here, this chapter has character death and some descriptions of butchering. I don't think it's all that graphic myself (more emotional) but there is some gore and I'd be amiss if I didn't say something. The character in question is a canon character, but not Hannibal or Will. Please enjoy.</p><p>If you would like an update on where I am in writing the next chapter, please feel free to visit <a href="https://relagorikt.carrd.co/">  my online profile</a>, I keep a progress meter there updated frequently.</p><div class="center">
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</div></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hesitating isn’t going to do you any favors. You have to be willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done.” Abel said.</p><p>“I’m not hesitating, I’m testing the waters,” Will said. </p><p>He was laying on his bed, waiting for Hannibal to come back from his night out, something that could not happen soon enough by Will’s estimation. He loathed being down here and found himself trying to stretch out the time that he spent upstairs as much as humanly possible to avoid it. Tonight, however, after having spent the day in his company, Hannibal had announced that he had something to attend to. A dinner, an event, the opera… he had not said. Will did his best to not feel bitter about being the one still here.</p><p>Hannibal had left a basket with things for them to eat at the wall just on the outside of Will’s cell bars because he wasn’t sure just how long he would be gone. When Hannibal left he had shoved it closer to Abel’s side, unsure as he was to just what state Abel was in and his ability to reach said food on his own. Will thought Hannibal fed him plenty at the meals they took together, and Abel it seemed was not to be on the receiving end of that same generosity. Will just had to hope that if he abstained from eating what was left down in the basement, Abel could subsist on it long enough for some form of help to arrive.</p><p>“It’s not like it’s a simple thing. He watches everything I do, Abel. He doesn’t trust me.”</p><p>“Can you blame him? I wouldn’t trust you either after what <em>you</em> did…” Abel said.</p><p>“After what we did.” Will corrected.</p><p>“I did very little and yet he still blames me for your part in it. It must be nice to be the favorite.”</p><p>Will thought that in some ways Abel was right, yet it spoke highly of Abel’s personality that he assigned blame onto someone else when it had been his idea and under his prompting that they had acted. Will gave a soft huff and shook his head. Unbelievable. </p><p>“At least he’s no longer eating you.” </p><p>“A cold comfort,” Abel replied.</p><p>Will rubbed at his eyes and sighed. “Any comfort is worth something right now,” Will said eventually.</p><p>“Any? Maybe your standards are starting to waver.” Abel drawled back at him, his voice dripping with suggestion.</p><p>“Shut up and let me think,” he said. That Abel could needle at him while saying so little irritated him. It wasn’t so much just the accusation of it than the fact that it was true. The memory of what it was like to lay next to Hannibal and not feel as alone, to be taken care of and feel stupidly safe even while knowing that all of this was entirely his fault. It was a lump of hot coal burning deep within the pit of his stomach. There was an associated shame, but he had just been so damned tired and overwrought. </p><p>Could he blame himself for taking what had been offered to him under these circumstances? Would someone else? He shut down that line of thinking abruptly, not allowing it to go any further. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. Not Jack, or Alana, and definitely not Abel. If it got him through to the next day then that was what counted, his desire to survive stronger than moral approval. </p><p>“Just make sure you don’t think too long,” Abel said before falling silent. </p><p>Will had just begun to relax when he heard feet on stairs. He stood and moved to the bars, gripping them at the sight of Hannibal coming down. He was not alone. Already another victim, Will thought. Even for the Chesapeake Ripper, this seemed excessive. Was he escalating?</p><p>Hannibal slung the sheet-wrapped body down onto the table with little care for its comfort. Unlike Abel, or himself for that matter, whomever Hannibal had chosen next seemed to be awake and squirming. There was only a second pause before Hannibal drew himself up, meeting Will’s gaze.   </p><p>“Busy night?” Will asked.</p><p>A smile curved Hannibal’s lips, his expression soft and fond as he moved toward him. Something had changed, but Will couldn’t yet put his finger on what. Some bit of avid greedy expectation.</p><p>“Hannibal?” Will tried again uncertainly.</p><p>“Did you know, Will, that our need for food comes not so wholly from the will to live as it does the desire to find satisfaction? It’s seated deep within us concerning all things, an imperative that drives us to have all we can.”</p><p>“Hunger,” Will replied.  </p><p>“Indeed.” Hannibal nodded. “To taste, to be filled, to make that life our own and take it into our bodies in whatever form. The pleasure of consuming.”</p><p>Will tilted his head ever so slightly as he looked up at him, so close now that he could smell him, trace amounts of sweat and aftershave. “Cannibalism is nothing if not an act of domination. Though in this context it usually has to do more with sex than the need for food. But this isn’t a sexual thing for you, is it, Dr. Lecter?”</p><p>“It hasn’t been. You know better than that.” Hannibal said, his eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth at such an observation. </p><p>Will nodded in agreement. He did know that. There was nothing to indicate otherwise. “You wouldn’t lower yourself down to that level. You have no need to.”</p><p>“Or want,” Hannibal added. He reached up to take hold of the zipper on the front of the plastic suit he wore to protect his clothing, pulling the suit downward and stepping out of it before picking it up and setting it to the side. He shrugged out of his jacket and did the same with it. Unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, Hannibal held Will’s gaze as he rolled the fabric up to his elbows and then withdrew the key to his cell. </p><p>The click of the lock was almost loud in the quiet, the door pulled open with nary a sound. Hannibal wouldn’t have stood for noisy hinges. The whisper of fine Italian leather sole against the tile as Hannibal stepped forward through the doorway, for the first time invading the small space, and forcing Will back a step to make room for him, but there was hardly anywhere left to go. Hannibal’s hand lifted as if to touch him but then he presented it, palm up toward him, an offering. </p><p>Slowly. So slowly that there was no question of him having the time to think it over, Will reached out to take that hand and Hannibal pulled him gently forward. He drew him from the cell and out into the basement proper, guiding him until he stood right before the table and its struggling bundle. </p><p>Hannibal maneuvered himself behind Will so that his arms framed him. Like this, Will could feel how much more broadly solid Hannibal was than himself. He burned like a furnace at Will’s back, pressed close and having to reach past him to unwrap their guest. That done, both of Hannibal’s hands came to grip him then, kneading the muscles of his upper arms. Despite all of these things, Will’s focus lay on the table before them. </p><p>The man was trussed up in a not altogether pleasant way, both muffled and restrained. Whoever said duct tape could fix any problem probably hadn’t had this in mind. It was almost pedestrian as far as these things went, not at all what he would have expected out of Hannibal but he supposed it was best to not question what worked.</p><p>The struggling man’s sounds picked up as Will came into view, eyes widening and darting back and forth between them. He was trying to talk through the tape but it was unintelligible. </p><p>Will’s lips parted on a long shallow intake of breath. “Hello Frederick.” he greeted, voice flat.</p><p>“In the past, there were men who ate their enemies in order to absorb their strength,” Hannibal murmured, breath hot against Will’s ear. </p><p>Will turned his face in Hannibal’s direction, not quite seeing him, but acutely aware of their closeness and of every point they touched. His brow furrowed as he considered those words. “He’s not your enemy,” he said.</p><p>“No.” Hannibal agreed. He could hear the smile in Hannibal’s voice, both amused at the idea of that as well as generally elated. </p><p>“What is this?”</p><p>“A gift.”</p><p>Will’s gaze returned to Chilton and he considered him anew. His helplessness did nothing for him. “You mean for me to butcher him,” he said and it was so very clear to him that he was almost lost in the idea of it, his imagination filling in the details of something he had not yet done. Chilton’s alarm ratcheted up at those words, but Will didn’t react until lips lightly brushed against the shell of his ear when Hannibal spoke.</p><p>“Yes,” Hannibal whispered to him, making Will lightly flinch. </p><p>Hannibal’s hands tightened to hold him in place as if he might run away if given the chance. He might have tried at one point, but that was before. What would he be willing to do? How far gone was he willing to go to save himself? He wondered these things yet again as he looked down at this man, one that had on several occasions looked at him as a project, something to write papers on, something to boost his name recognition and make money off of. A stepping stone. A sacrificial lamb. </p><p>“You wanted to understand. Needed to, you said. Let me guide you toward that understanding, Will. Let me show you how.” Hannibal said. </p><p>“I do want to,” he admitted aloud, finding it to be true. </p><p>There was no way out of this for Chilton. Even if Will said no, even if he refused to act, he knew that Chilton would die. His fate was already sealed and it was just a matter of by what means and by whom. Besides, it wasn't like he could just tell Hannibal to take it back. That would be useless, and worse for him, considered rude.</p><p>Hannibal wasn’t the sort to be sloppy about anything, but he had to ask. “Won’t they wonder what's happened to him?”</p><p>“They’ll look for him, but they’ll think he’s run. When they go to his home, if they’ve not already done so, they will find the bodies of two officers who were following up on a noise complaint. Looking at the rest of the house, they will find that a sizable section of his wardrobe has gone missing, and discover evidence of several of the ripper’s other victims. They will find your service weapon locked within the bottom drawer of his office.”</p><p>“They’ll blame him,” Will said and nodded in understanding. There would be just enough there to fill in the blanks, Chilton’s fingerprints would probably even be on his gun. Kindness or cruelty… It was up to him to ultimately choose the path of Chilton’s demise and while he had no affection for him, found him a bit repellant, in fact, there were just some things he couldn’t allow. </p><p>“I’m not a sadist, Hannibal. I won’t do this to him while he’s alive.” Will said. This was all that he could do for him now. Perhaps all he could do for them both.</p><p>“A problem easily remedied.”</p><p>Hannibal’s hands dropped away from him and he stepped to the head of the table. He placed one hand on Chilton’s shoulder, the other up under his chin, and wrenched. A snapping sound and the man was suddenly gone, leaving Will looking at him wide-eyed. How unremarkable it all was. Will’s vision became obscured as he blinked, wetness beaded in his eyes, there but not enough to fall. </p><p>“Do you cry for him, Will?” Hannibal asked. </p><p>“No,” he said. It wasn’t for him. Never for him. “No…” he repeated more surely.</p><p>
  <em> It’s for what I’ve done. </em>
</p><p>Will let his eyes close. He took in one slow deep breath after another trying to calm himself, the room feeling like it was slowly moving, revolving around him as he stood still. A trick of perception and balance in an off-kilter world. He made a pained sound when hands brushed back his hair, cupped his face, staying still until he felt Hannibal’s lips purse first against one of his eyelids and then the other.</p><p>When Hannibal was certain he held his attention he said, “There is to be no pity, Will.”</p><p>“No pity.” he echoed back in agreement and reached up to wrap his hand around Hannibal’s wrist. He met and held Hannibal’s observing eyes, taking in the minute expressions and details that crossed his face. Hannibal surveyed him clinically, eventually letting his hands drop. </p><p>“Go wash your hands,” Hannibal instructed and Will did so, using the great industrial sink nearby. He scrubbed under the hot water until his skin turned pink, while Hannibal Removed tape and undressed the body. When Hannibal was done he too washed up. He didn’t put on gloves and did not ask that Will do so. There was no man left, after all, there was just meat and he knew somehow without needing to ask that Chilton would never be found. </p><p>Hannibal pulled out a container of dish soap and zigzagged long lines of it across Chilton, before reaching for the hose he had hooked to the wall and turning it on. He considered for a moment and then handed the sprayer to Will, going to the cabinet and withdrawing a thin green abrasive pad from his supplies. Starting at one end, they made quick work of cleaning him.  </p><p>Hannibal stepped up behind Will once more, cupping Will’s hand in his own and then pressing the handle of a scalpel into Will’s palm, using his fingers to wrap Will’s around it and holding it firm. They stood poised there at that table, hands lifted and ready to begin. Hannibal’s free hand braced Chilton so that he wouldn't shift, whereas Will gripped the metal table’s edge, needing something, anything, to brace himself with.</p><p>“Life, Will. We all are in need of it. We thrive on it, need to consume it, and it passes by fleetingly every day. The tragedy is not to die, but to be wasted.” Hannibal murmured low and intimate. </p><p>“Was his life such a waste?” Will asked, his eyes downcast on the task before them. He couldn’t look away, not even if he wanted to. It was not because Hannibal held him there, but that he was transfixed by the anticipation. </p><p>“Yes, and it would be a waste to not use what’s left.” Hannibal simply agreed. </p><p>In that moment before the first cut, the point of active participation, he thought the veil had become its thinnest yet. There were no games in the tone of Hannibal’s voice, and no allowances in the firm way he wrapped about him. Perhaps he was trying to hold Will together like this, perhaps he had been the entire time, Chilton’s death only a vehicle to find poignant meaning.  </p><p>The scalpel kissed skin. There was a moment of feigned resistance as flesh dimpled beneath the metal and then it parted under the pressure like a slowly yawning mouth, the incision growing larger as Hannibal, as he himself, drew the blade longways. Red bloomed brightly in their wake.</p><p>“So much blood,” Will whispered aloud, hardly a whisper at all but Hannibal heard him. </p><p>“Much and yet so little. The human body carries around five liters of blood. Such a vital fluid and so vibrant, yet not often appreciated for its range of color or flavor.”</p><p>“Should I be appreciating it?” </p><p>“You should. Aren’t you already?” Hannibal asked. He drew the cut to its completion and then lifted the blade, Taking it carefully from Will before stepping back from him. The sound of a chain being drawn through pulleys drew Will’s attention from the table, and he looked upward to where Hannibal maneuvered the heavy hook into place. </p><p>It was a matter of tying limbs together and hoisting. It was undignified looking, hanging like that, all pale loose limbs. rivulets of red traveled down over Fredrick’s features and matted his hair from the gaping slit, streaming down to ultimately pool near his head like a morbid halo around the floor drain Hannibal set him over. It hit the floor with a little tat-tat-tat sound.</p><p>That same blood was drying on Will’s hands, underneath his fingernails. He felt marked by it. Stained.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It wasn’t until the next evening that the meal Hannibal had planned came into being. The strangeness of seeing those perfect sections of meat, and knowing exactly where they had come from and how they had been cut away managed to be equally disturbing as well as novel. </p><p>Hannibal took ingredients out, piece by piece, and put them in a little row, presumably in the order that they would be needed.</p><p>“You’re so neat about everything,” Will said in wonder, and he did mean everything. In the many hours he had been forced to sit in Hannibal’s presence, no… perhaps even before that, he had come to see the depth of just how fastidious he could be. It pushed very nearly past the bounds of what most people would consider reasonable. He couldn’t help but smile slightly and shake his head. </p><p>“Cleanliness is next to godliness,” Hannibal said, glancing up and returning his smile.</p><p>“And is that how you see yourself? Like god?”</p><p>“In so far as any man can. Perhaps more than even most. There is an order to everything, Will. Plus, it makes finding things easier.” Hannibal replied, admitting the last in a lower tone as if some great secret.</p><p>Will gave a soft snort. It was hard to not find him charming sometimes, but he supposed that was the problem. Hannibal just seemed so achingly human sometimes that one could almost forget what he was hiding. He leaned against the counter, watching and trying not to get in the way, content to do so when Hannibal placed a neatly folded bundle on the counter and pushed it toward him. An apron of his very own.</p><p>He picked it up and unfolded it, fingering the dove grey linen gently. It had an organic feel to it, unprocessed, yet softness had been beaten into it. Unlike the bright white one that Hannibal wore tied around his waist, this was a full apron. </p><p>“Are you sure this is wise? I don’t see any juice that needs squeezing...” he asked. </p><p>Hannibal chuckled genuinely, a low brief sound that made Will feel warm inside. “Exactly how much experience do you have in the kitchen?” Hannibal asked.</p><p>“Not enough. I can cook well enough to avoid starving, but it’s nothing close to what you do.” Will said as he put the apron on and rolled up his sleeves. His first inclination was always to hold back but he needed to do this to move things forward between them. Will reasoned that past conversations they had were more personal. “I told you before that we moved around a lot while I was growing up.”</p><p>“You did. Your Father was a fisherman as I recall.”</p><p>Will made a sound of agreement at that, just standing there ready and regarding Hannibal now. Hannibal in turn pushed several items Will’s way and then snapped a recipe card down facing him. A cumberland sauce, not too complicated looking.</p><p>“We went where the work was. During the winter we’d usually go down south, but most of the good jobs he got were up north.” Will said, going to the cabinet and searching through it until he found the measuring cups. </p><p>“Which is why you moved so often.”</p><p>“Yeah, in part at least, that and being evicted. It wasn’t always steady work, so there were spates of time where he’d be in between jobs and just picking up anything he could. Then, he’d find work on a ship, and off we’d go to wherever and the opposite would happen.”</p><p>“He’d be gone?” Hannibal prompted for more information. </p><p>“Long hours, weeks sometimes. When I was really little he’d find someone for me to stay with. He’d pay a neighbor, or if he had a girlfriend, she’d be there. That never lasted as you can imagine. Who wants to be stuck babysitting someone’s kid for a week or more at a time. It’s amazing that CPS was never called.”</p><p>“You don’t sound as if you blame him.”</p><p>“I don’t. I mean, I guess I did sometimes when I was a kid, but as an adult, I can see it for what it was. He was undereducated, a single father. He was doing the best he knew how and I know he loved me.”</p><p>“And you loved him,” Hannibal said in that warm tone of his, relaxed and fully in his element.</p><p>“Yeah.” Will agreed. He smiled and looked down, still for a long moment as he lingered affectionately on the memory of a man whom he hadn’t gotten to truly know as an adult. Hannibal said nothing, allowing him the time he needed to work through his thoughts without interruption, and eventually, Will continued. </p><p>“After a certain point I just sort of became a latchkey kid whenever he was gone. I had to learn to do for myself. It was honestly preferable to having someone there who didn’t want to be. This is where learning to cook comes in...” Will explained. He leaned to inspect the instructions once more and then measure out what was needed into a bowl. </p><p>“Your father taught you?”</p><p>“No. God no, he was even more hopeless at it than I am. I asked a lady who lived two apartments down from us to teach me some basic stuff and then learned other stuff from a book. His idea of cooking was box macaroni and cheese with browned hamburger meat put in. The kind that comes in a tube, of course.” Will said, added that last point just to see Hannibal purse his lips in displeasure at the idea of it. </p><p>“How old were you?” Hannibal asked.</p><p>“Twelve.”</p><p>Hannibal only nodded.</p><p>“You don’t seem particularly concerned or shocked,” Will commented </p><p>“Why should I be concerned for a boy that turned out alright?” Hannibal returned.</p><p>“More or less, anyway,” Will added, to which Hannibal smiled.</p><p>“I don’t think you’d appreciate any sympathy I might give you considering that you don’t think of it as a deficit.”</p><p>“No pity.” Will agreed in echo of Hannibal’s general sentiments, for a moment focused near entirely on what he was doing.     </p><p>"How fortunate for you then that I have so little of it to spare."</p><p>“I don’t think that’s true,” Will said. “You pity a great deal. It’s just not in the same ways that most people do, because you’re also disappointed.”</p><p>Hannibal neither confirmed nor denied this observation, but instead lifted his eyebrows inquiringly. “What else?” </p><p>Will shook his head, having no intentions of giving him what he wanted just yet. He’d dole it out little by little at a time. How else could he be expected to hold his attention? </p><p><br/>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Lure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There is a lot of talking going on in this chapter. A lot of double meanings. I made a playlist on spotify of the music I've listened to while writing this fic for your listening pleasure. Most of it is classical (as words tend to have too much influence on me while writing) and is in no real particular order as I listen to some songs over and over again, but there are a few songs with lyrics as well. The first song in the playlist is the one that I feel this fic stemmed from initially. You can find it <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0k2paQ3jCrKeZvJCijDlQ8?si=15443bd85c294319">  here.</a></p>
<p>If you would like an update on where I am in writing the next chapter, please feel free to visit <a href="https://relagorikt.carrd.co/">  my online profile</a>, I keep a progress meter there updated frequently.</p>
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  <span>It wasn’t until dinner was cooking slowly in the oven and Hannibal had asked him to make himself more presentable, that Will realized that this meal somehow meant more than usual. Hannibal took Will upstairs to his ensuite so that he could take a shower and shave, leaving him in the room with the door half open while he waited in the bedroom proper. </span>
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  <span>Most of the things people kept handy in their cabinets and drawers, Hannibal had removed from the room. Will supposed it was to keep any ideas of acting out or makeshift weapons at bay. While there were still a great number of options he could go with, none of them could be had without making entirely too much noise.</span>
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  <span>A garment bag hung on the back of the linen closet door waiting for him, pristine and brand new. The branding on the outside of the bag wasn’t familiar to him, but that hardly told him much aside from the fact that it was likely to be obnoxiously expensive.</span>
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  <span>It was with a frown that he crossed the room to it. He pulled the zipper and folded the plastic back to reveal the dark suit inside, a rich burgundy color that he would have never considered, much less picked out for himself. The shirt paired with it was pale muted blue, the tie navy. What tied it all together was the waistcoat and the inner lining of the jacket, a paisley of both colors. It was the most extravagant thing Hannibal had presented him with yet and without a doubt the most ostentatious thing he’d ever had to wear. By the time he had dressed, then dried and combed his hair, he found Hannibal redressed and waiting for him.</span>
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  <span>Hannibal paused when Will came into the room, a slowly formed smile coming to his lips as he looked him up and down.</span>
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  <span>“You look exquisite,” Hannibal commented quietly. </span>
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  <span>“Yeah? Well, I feel like something out of a chocolate box.” Will said. He pulled the waistcoat down using the bottom edge, unsure about how it sat on him. </span>
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  <span>“Nonsense,” Hannibal said, half laughing. His eyes crinkled up as he approached and smoothed out Will’s clothing and hair until he was satisfied. Hannibal’s whole expression exuded amiability and Will found it impossible not to smile a little in reaction, buoyed by his emotions. </span>
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  <span>Hannibal’s hands lingered on his shoulders as he just looked at him for a long moment, before seeming to gather himself and cross the room to the vanity to where Will’s hobble lay.</span>
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  <span>Will made an unhappy sound when he noticed it, but resigned himself to its inevitable reappearance. In all the days he had spent here, aside from the time he spent in his room, and while bathing, there had only ever been the one time Hannibal hadn’t insisted on it. </span>
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  <span>“I won’t run again,” Will said, knowing that he probably sounded childish. He felt it more keenly so when Hannibal closed the space in between them to put a hand on his lower back and guided him to the bed to sit. “I won’t, not with Winston here.”</span>
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  <span>Hannibal nodded that he understood but he still knelt by Will’s ankles and raised the cuffs of his pants one by one, fastening the damned thing in place. Will sighed, his mood sobering at their shared truth regardless of what Hannibal was feeling. </span>
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  <span>“I hate it,” he muttered.</span>
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  <span>Hannibal looked up at him, placing one hand on his knee and giving it a squeeze. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I regret requiring it, but these are the terms we must live by. Much as I would prefer a mutual understanding to be enough.”</span>
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  <span>“You can’t trust what I say,” Will said. He looked away, frowning now. He looked back when Hannibal stood and cupped his chin with one hand, gently lifting it to prompt him to do so. </span>
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  <span>“It’s not your words, Will, or even your intentions. It’s that I can’t trust what you will do at a moment’s notice, should an opening present itself.” Hannibal caressed Will’s cheekbone with his thumb once before removing his hand. He offered it to Will then to help him up. “Come. Let’s not ruin dinner by dwelling on negative things.”</span>
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  <span>The want to press the matter further reared up inside of Will if only briefly before he quashed it, and took Hannibal’s hand. He merely needed to get through dinner to consider it a success.</span>
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  <span>Will went down the stairs with Hannibal just behind him. Music was already playing in the background. The dining room was softly lit, the chandelier turned down so that it only added enough light to navigate by. A fire was set in the hearth to warm the room. Candles in metal holders sat among the centerpiece along the table's length, flickering and adding an almost fae light to the decor. Burgundy red roses lay in a spray, interspersed with others that were a lighter red but had an almost beige underside and small blue flowers that he thought might be forget-me-nots, all poised with bits of jutting rib bone that stood throughout the display like jagged macabre thorns. It reminded him of the sort of arrangement one put atop a casket. Were they Chilton’s ribs or someone else's? Did it even matter?</span>
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  <span>Will turned to look back in Hannibal's direction, arching one eyebrow in question. Hannibal mimicked the expression in turn.</span>
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  <span>"You dressed me to match the decor," Will said.</span>
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  <span>"In fact, I changed the decor to match you. It seemed only appropriate."</span>
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  <span>"That I become a part of it?"</span>
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  <span>"That it provides a complementary backdrop," Hannibal said with some amusement. His hand came to rest on Will's back once more, guiding him to his usual chair, and pulling it out for him. Not usual however was the fact that Hannibal had the second place set directly across the table from his chair, rather than at the head of the table directly to his left. He stared at it for a long moment, and then glanced at the empty spot and back, as Hannibal slipped into the kitchen, considering what aspects here had meaning and what was merely whimsy. He also wondered just when Hannibal had time to set this up. </span>
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  <span>Then Hannibal was back, carrying two small plates in his hands. He placed Will’s in front of him first before moving to the other side of the table. </span>
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  <span>“Heart tartare and crostini flake with blood orange,” Hannibal said, reaching for the open bottle of wine and pouring some for them both. </span>
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  <span>The plate had one small mound of meat and a few small orange segments, just something to get them started. He contemplated it dubiously, before rolling his eyes up to look at Hannibal.</span>
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  <span>“Please.” Hannibal prompted.</span>
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  <span>Will picked up his fork and put a small delicate amount of it onto the tines. His eyes flicked back up to Hannibal’s, and the man smiled at him encouragingly. He put it in his mouth and chewed, watching Hannibal watch him. Hannibal’s smile softened as Will swallowed, and he too picked up his fork and began to eat. </span>
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  <span>“You enjoy watching me eat.” Will accused.</span>
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  <span>“I enjoy your company.” Hannibal corrected. “But yes, it is satisfying to see you eat what I’ve made.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A caregiver's preoccupation, or do you just like the idea of my eating your colleagues?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t it be both?” Hannibal asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will hummed mildly as he took a long drink of wine. He swirled it in his glass as he considered the part he needed to play. He needed to get closer, to build up whatever this was between them, and to do that he needed to give Hannibal what he wanted. He pushed down whatever bit of revulsion he might have in him regarding what he was eating. It wasn’t hard to do so. The taste was extraordinary, so he was fine as long as his thoughts remained surface level. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least you’ve made him more tolerable to have in the room.” Will matched Hannibal’s glib tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He now serves a better purpose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure he’d agree with that estimation considering how temporary a purpose it is. He had high aspirations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So do I. A pity he wasn’t quicker on his feet to avoid them.” Hannibal said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what aspirations are those?” Will asked. To this Hannibal merely favored him with a close-lipped smile. A standstill then. Will picked at his plate, slowly making his way through it, while occasionally glancing up at Hannibal. It was frustrating to be offered so little when he was used to seeing so much. “Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> heart? Why not mine? It would have been less trouble.” he said eventually.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you offering?” Hannibal asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t aware you needed me to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal’s eyes fairly glittered in the candlelight as they traveled over Will’s form, the red in them seeming more pronounced somehow in the dim. That smile lingering on his lips, so softly provoking. A gentleman. A monster. A man. A lord surveying all that belonged to him and finding his expectations well met. Hannibal looked at him, and Will had the precarious sense that he already had his foot in a snare.    </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>He is the Devil, Mr. Graham.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ Abel’s voice echoed through Will’s thoughts, and he thought it more than an apt description.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It would be more meaningful if you made a gift of it,” Hannibal said. “The heart is not something that one takes lightly, and fear often makes it bitter when stolen. Tell me, Will, which of these would you rather have?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A gift. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will’s gaze returned to the plate before him, to the remnants of heart cut and seasoned before him. He looked up at the flowers once more, his brow knitting faintly. Hannibal had said that word the night before. That Chilton’s death was a gift. No, that wasn’t right, was it? The gift was understanding. This meal was a part of that gift. This heart was a part of that gift.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A gift. Was this symbolic or literal? Was Hannibal quietly offering up his heart to Will and waiting for him to notice, or was he reading entirely too much into it? He looked up at Hannibal, meeting his curious gaze. No, he didn’t think he was. He put the last of the tartare into his mouth and then carefully set his fork aside, licking the remnants of its taste from his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal arose, collected their plates, and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned and placed a dinner plate in front of Will with smooth practiced efficiency.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spinach-stuffed loin with a Cumberland sauce and a side of roasted asparagus,” Hannibal announced. He put the other plate across the table and then proceeded to drizzle the sauce Will had helped with over their entrees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Hannibal had settled back into his seat Will said “A gift is only worthwhile if the recipient can appreciate what they are being given.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you speaking from personal experience?” Hannibal asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. Surely you’ve been taken for granted before.” Will said into his wine glass, before finishing it in one swallow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal picked up the decanter, refilling both of their glasses unasked. “ Not by many who are still around to remember it,” Hannibal said. “I imagine you’ve had more than your fair share. A mind like yours, able to discern the things that people want to keep closest. Able to see their manipulations and neediness for what it was.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d think that would make it easier, but it doesn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not at all. It is difficult to find worthiness in those around us when they remain so willfully blind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will picked up his fork once more, using it to cut the meat in front of him. It was so tender that the metal bit right through, no knife needed. “Denial makes living easier. Nobody wants to think of themselves as a bad person. A weak person. Deny something enough and make your own reality.” Will commented.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that what we are doing now, living in denial?” Hannibal asked him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Will said. He put the first bite in his mouth, having to close his eyes at the taste. He rolled it against his tongue to savor it and then chewed, opening his eyes only once he had swallowed. Even then all he could do was stare at the plate in front of him for a long moment. “This is… I should feel awful about eating this. I should feel something, at least. I wonder what it says that I don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It says that you are compartmentalizing, nothing more than that. There is nothing wrong with appreciating what is in front of you, Will.” Hannibal said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will barked out a bitter laugh at that. “There's everything wrong with it. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel bad.” Still, he cut another piece. He had to keep his strength up. He’d be doing himself no favors if he let himself get weak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does the ranch owner feel bad when he culls his herd? Does the hunter? Do you feel bad when you pull in a line?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s different. You’re talking about people.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Animals, one and all. Where do you imagine the line to be between humans and other living things?” Hannibal asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Opposable thumbs maybe? Higher thinking ability.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Humanity,” Hannibal said. “It’s the line between being merely an animal and being something more. It isn’t enough to merely walk upright or speak. You have to aspire and appreciate, to be fully aware and give value to society.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will considered this as he made inroads on this meal, the gentle clink of metal against china proceeding every purposeful bite. “And those who don’t make the cut, get cut, is that it?” Will asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal laughed at that. He grinned enough to show teeth, his eyes impossibly affectionate. “No Will,” he said. “There would be a lot more bodies if that was the case.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How many are there exactly?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal tipped his head to the side and pursed his lips, making a thoughtful hum. “More than you know about by far,” he said finally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I figured as much, just looking at what you’ve left behind. Not the work of someone just starting out. How long have you been doing this?” Will asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does it matter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t want to tell me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, he’d love to tell me, Will thought, but he liked to make him ask for it. Very little could be had without asking and even then, it often felt like a game of asking the right questions somehow. Will placed his fork down beside his plate and picked up his wine glass, leaning back in his chair. He felt full but chances were good that dessert remained. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal took the prompting for what it was and stood, collecting the plates and moving into the kitchen. He was back within a handful of seconds, presenting two shallow bowls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sanguinaccio dolce. A favorite of mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blood pudding?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Generally made using the blood of pigs," Hannibal said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Isn't it still by your estimation?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Very good Will."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It appears that I can be taught after all,” Will said, but there was no warmth in being praised, not for this. No, the only real warmth in the room was in Hannibal’s eyes, and the way they avidly lingered on him as if he were the only thing worth his attention in the room. He had to look away, unable to hold eye contact for very long under such intense scrutiny. He felt like he should be running, discomfort, a sort of low-grade panic inside of him but he didn’t move from his seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, of that, I had no doubt. You possess a singular ability to absorb the things around you, both seen and unseen. You learn more than you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will selected his spoon, skimming the surface of the bowl's contents before bringing it to his mouth instead of answering Hannibal’s words. It was rich. So smooth and sweet on his palette that he immediately wanted more. He stared down into the bowl with a frown. He couldn’t fault the taste, like anything else Hannibal had ever put in front of him. He couldn’t even drum up enough disgust to properly call it a mood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s good,” he admitted. And it was, all of it was.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t forget to take your pills, Will.” Hannibal reminded him.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Will lay on his bed, Winston tucked in against his side. In the past, he would have never let the dog up in his bed, but now he took comfort in it. Hannibal had frowned at him when he asked if Winston could stay with him, but he hadn’t said no or even voiced his displeasure. He was sure that it was in large part something of a reward for how well he had behaved all day. He dug his fingers into Winston’s thick fur and simply held onto him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m starting to wonder if you’re serious about any of this,” Abel said from his place on the other side of the wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Will asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cooking and dinner parties. Fancy clothes. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the lack of complaining on your part. Meanwhile what’s to become of me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of Will's heavy sigh echoed slightly. He let his eyes close. He didn’t want to deal with this conversation. “I haven’t forgotten. It takes time to gain trust. The more I indulge him, the better it’s likely to be. Haven’t you ever gone fishing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I seem like that sort to you?” Abel asked and this time he sounded annoyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I do. When you fish, you need a lure. Different lures for different fish, but there's always a barb in the middle of it all. You have to use something that will get the fish’s attention, just flashy enough that it can’t look away. It has to mimic and move like something the fish wants and then their instincts kick in, triggering them to take a bite.” Will said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just make sure he doesn’t take a bite out of you,” Abel said in return.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I think he will. In fact, I’m counting on it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I choose to use comment moderation only to keep abusive comments out so that you guys don't have to look at them, and no other reason. Please don't let it keep you from commenting as anything other than that I will let through.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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